"  SMILES  " 

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A  MAN  AND  A  WOMAN AS  IT  WAS  IN  THE  BEGINNING 

(See  Page  374) 


"SMILES" 

A  ROSE   OF  THE  CUMBERLANDS 
By  ELIOT  H.  ROBINSON 


AUTHOR  OF 
'Man  Proposes,"  "The  Maid  of  Mirabelle,"  etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published   by   arrangement    with   The    Page    Company 
Printed  in   U.   S.    A. 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
THE  PAGE  COMPANY 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


All  rights  reserved 
Made  in  U.  S.  A. 


TOVMY  BOYS 

THIS   STORY  OF  A  GIRL 
WHO   LOVED    CHILDREN 

IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


2132308 


AN   ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

I  WISH  to  acknowledge,  most  gratefully,  the  val- 
uable assistance  rendered  to  me,  in  the  preparation 
of  the  chapters  dealing  with  the  medical  and  hospital 
incidents,  by  Robert  W.  Guiler,  M.D. ;  by  Alonzo 
J.  Shadman,  M.D.,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  my 
description  of  the  unusual  operation  in  Chapter  XXI ; 
and  by  Miss  Elizabeth  E.  Sullivan,  Superintendent  of 
Nurses  at  the  Boston  Children's  Hospital.  And, 
above  all,  I  desire  to  make  acknowledgment  of  the 
debt  of  gratitude  that  I  owe  to  Mr.  Henry  Wightman 
Packer  for  his  helpful  criticism  throughout  the  writing 
of  this  story. 

ELIOT  HARLOW  ROBINSON. 


"SMILES 


CHAPTER  I 

DONALD  MACDONALD,   M.D. 

THE  man  came  to  a  stop,  a  look  of  humiliation  and 
deep  self-disgust  on  his  bronzed  face.  With  method- 
ical care  he  leaned  his  rifle  against  the  seamed  trunk 
of  a  forest  patriarch  and  drew  the  sleeve  of  his  hunt- 
ing shirt  across  his  forehead,  now  glistening  with 
beads  of  sweat;  then,  and  not  until  then,  did  he 
relieve  his  injured  feelings  by  giving  voice  to  a  short 
but  soul-satisfying  expletive. 

At  the  sound  of  his  deep  voice  the  dog,  which  had, 
panting,  dropped  at  his  feet  after  a  wild,  purposeless 
dash  through  the  underbrush,  looked  up  with  bright 
eyes  whose  expression  conveyed  both  worship  and  a 
question,  and,  as  the  man  bent  and  stroked  his  wiry 
coat,  rustled  the  pine  needles  with  his  stubby  tail. 

The  picture  held  no  other  animate  creatures,  and 
no  other  sound  disturbed  the  silence  of  the  woods. 

By  the  hunter's  serviceable  nickeled  timepiece  the 
afternoon  was  not  spent;  but  the  sun  was  already 
swinging  low  over  the  western  mountaintop,  and  its 


2 "  SMILES  * 

slanting  rays,  as  they  filtered  through  the  leafy  net- 
work overhead,  had  begun  to  take  on  the  richer  gold 
of  early  evening,  and  the  thick  forest  foliage  of  oddly 
intermingled  oak  and  pine,  beech  and  poplar,  was 
assuming  deeper,  more  velvety  tones.  There  was 
solemn  beauty  in  the  scene;  but,  for  the  moment, 
the  man  was  out  of  tune  with  the  vibrant  color  har- 
monies, and  he  frankly  stated  the  reason  in  his  next 
words,  which  were  addressed  to  his  unlovely  canine 
companion,  whose  sagacity  more  than  compensated 
for  his  appealing  homeliness. 

"Mike,  we're  lost!" 

City  born  and  bred  though  he  was,  the  man  took 
a  not  unjustifiable  pride  in  the  woodcraft  which  he 
had  acquired  during  many  vacations  spent  in  the 
wilds ;  hence  it  was  humiliating  to  have  to  admit 
that  fact  —  even  to  his  dog.  To  be  sure,  the  fast- 
nes^es  of  the  border  Cumberlands  were  new  to  him ; 
but  his  vanity  was  hurt  by  the  realization  that  he 
had  tramped  for  nearly  an  hour  through  serried  ranks 
of  ancient  trees  and  crowding  thickets  of  laurel  and 
rhododendron  —  which  seemed  to  take  a  personal 
delight  in  impeding  the  progress  of  a  "furriner"  — 
and  over  craggy  rocks,  only  to  find,  at  the  end  of  that 
time,  that  he  was  entering  one  end  of  a  short  ravine 
from  the  other  end  of  which  he  had  started  with  the 
vague  purpose  of  seeking  the  path  by  which  he  had 
climbed  from  the  valley  village. 

Moreover,  a  subtle  change  was  taking  place  in  the 
air.  Faint  breezes,  the  sighing  heralds  of  advancing 


DONALD   MACDONALD,   M.D.       3 

»  • 

evening,  were  now  beginning  to  steal  slowly  out  from 
the  picturesque,  seamed  rocks  of  the  ravine  and  from 
behind  each  gnarled  or  stately  tree,  with  an  unmis- 
takable warning. 

There  was  clearly  but  one  logical  course  for  him 
to  pursue  —  head  straight  up  the  mountainside  until 
he  should  arrive  at  some  commanding  clearing  whence 
he  could  recover  his  lost  bearings  and  establish 
some  landmarks  for  a  fresh  start  downward.  With 
his  square  jaw  set  in  a  decisive  manner,  the  man 
picked  up  his  gun,  threw  back  his  heavy  shoulders, 
and  began  to  climb,  driving  his  muscular  body  forcibly 
through  the  underbrush. 

The  decision  and  the  action  were  both  charac- 
teristic of  Donald  MacDonald,  in  whose  Yankee 
veins  ran  the  blood  of  a  dour  and  purposeful  Scottish 
clan.  Aggressive  determination  showed  in  every 
lineament  of  his  face,  of  which  his  nearest  friend, 
Philip  Bentley,  had  once  said,  "The  Great  Sculptor 
started  to  carve  a  masterpiece,  choosing  granite 
rather  than  marble  as  his  medium,  and  was  content 
to  leave  it  rough  hewn."  Every  feature  was  strong 
and  rugged,  which  gave  his  countenance  an  expression 
masterful  to  the  point  of  being  almost  surly  when 
it  was  in  repose;  but  it  was  a  face  which  caused 
most  men  —  and  women  over  thirty  —  to  turn  for  a 
second  glance. 

To-day,  the  effect  of  strength  was  further  enhanced 
by  a  week's  growth  of  blue-black  beard.  But  his 
eyes,  agate  gray  and  flecked  with  the  green  of  tbe 


"  SMILES 


"moss"  variety,  were  the  real  touchstones  of  his 
character,  and  they  belied  the  stern  lines  of  his 
mouth  and  chin  and  spoke  eloquently  of  a  warm, 
kindly  heart  within  the  powerful  body,  a  body  which, 
to  the  city  dweller,  suggested  the  fullback  on  a 
football  team.  Indeed,  such  he  had  been  in  those 
days  when  great  power  counted  more  heavily  than 
speed  and  agility.  Not  but  that  he  possessed  these 
attributes  as  well,  in  a  degree  unusual  in  one  who 
tipped  the  scales  at  one  hundred  and  ninety. 

To  some  it  seemed  an  inexplicable  anomaly  that 
a  man  of  his  type  should  have  selected,  as  the  work 
to  which  he  had  dedicated  his  life,  the  profession  of 
medicine,  and  still  more  strange  that  he  had  become 
a  specialist  in  the  diseases  of  children.  Yet  such  was 
the  case,  and  many  a  mother,  whose  heartstrings 
were  plucked  by  the  lean  fingers  of  Despair,  had 
cause  to  bless  the  almost  uncanny  surgical  skill 
which  his  highly-trained  brain  exercised  through 
the  medium  of  his  big,  spatulate,  gentle  fingers. 

As  "Mac"  had,  in  the  old  days,  smashed  his  way 
through  the  opposing  line  of  blue-jerseyed  giants 
on  the  football  field,  and  as  he  now  plowed  through 
the  laurel  and  rhododendron,  so  had  he  won  his  way 
to  the  forefront  of  the  younger  generation  of  his 
profession  until,  at  the  age  of  thirty-five,  he  had 
become  recognized  as  one  of  the  most  able  children's 
specialists  in  America.  A  "man's  man,"  blunt  of 
speech  to  the  point  of  often  offending  at  first  the 
cultured  women  with  whom  his  labors  brought 


DONALD   MACDONALD,   M.D.       5 

him  into  contact,  he  was  worshipped  in  hundred? 
of  homes  as  an  angel  of  mercy  in  strange  guise,  and 
was  the  idol  of  hundreds  of  little  folk  to  whom  he 
had  brought  new  health  and  happiness. 

The  toilsome  upward  climb  brought  its  reward 
at  length,  and  Donald's  eye  caught  sight  of  a  clear- 
ing, and  unmistakable  signs  of  near-by  civiliza- 
tion, if  a  scattering  mountain  settlement  of  primitive 
dwellers  in  that  feudal  country  which  lies  half  in 
West  Virginia,  half  in  Kentucky,  may  be  so  desig- 
nated. 

No  sooner  had  he  stepped  into  the  partially  cleared 
land,  and  caught  sight  of  a  small,  isolated  cabin 
beyond,  so  toned  by  wind  and  weather  that  it  seemed 
almost  an  integral  part  of  its  natural  surroundings, 
than  his  own  presence  was  detected,  as  the  sharp 
and  surly  barking  of  an  unseen  dog  evidenced.  Mike 
made  answer  to  the  challenge,  and  instantly  other, 
more  distant,  canine  voices  joined  in  the  growing 
clamor. 

As  man  and  dog  advanced  across  the  clearing, 
not  one,  but  half  a  dozen  gaunt  curs,  summoned  to 
the  spot  by  a  warning  which  meant  the  approach  of 
a  stranger,  much  as  their  clannish  masters  might 
have  been  in  other  years,  mysteriously  appeared 
from  all  sides  and  rushed  forward,  their  lips  drawn 
back  from  threatening  teeth,  their  bristling  throats 
rumbling  ominously. 

Donald  sharply  commanded  the  likewise  bristling 
Mike  to  keep  to  heel,  threw  his  rifle  to  hip  and  backed 


"SMILES" 


hastily  toward  the  cabin.  He  had  no  wish  to  employ 
his  weapon,  and  as  retreat  was  the  other  alternative, 
for  his  companion's  sake,  if  not  his  own,  indeed, 
discretion  seemed  to  be,  by  all  odds,  valor's  better 
part. 

A  noisy  and  exciting  moment  brought  him  to 
the  cabin's  door,  still  face  to  the  enemy.  Fumbling 
behind  him  with  his  left  hand,  Donald  found  and 
lifted  the  latch.  The  door  swung  suddenly  open 
under  his  weight,  Mike  scurried  between  his  legs, 
and  the  combination  resulted  in  his  downfall,  precip- 
itate and  sprawling. 

Simultaneously  came  a  startled  exclamation  in  a 
treble  voice,  the  clatter  of  a  fallen  kettle  and  then  a 
quick  cry  of  pain. 

In  an  instant  Donald  had  scrambled  ungracefully 
to  his  feet  and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  pic- 
ture that  he  was  destined  never  to  forget. 

Backed  by  a  big  stone  fireplace,  in  which  the 
embers  were  glowing  ruddily,  stood  a  young  girl 
clad  in  a  simple  one-piece  dress,  which  left  neck, 
arms  and  legs  bare.  One  dusty,  but  dainty,  foot 
was  held  between  her  hands,  while  she  balanced 
on  the  other.  A  tumbling  mass  of  rich  brown  curls, 
shot  with  gleaming  threads  like  tiny  rays  of  captive 
sunshine,  fell,  unbound,  over  her  shoulders,  and 
partly  veiled  a  childlike  face,  tanned  to  an  Indian 
brown  and  now  twisted  with  pain,  but  nevertheless 
so  startlmgly  sweet  and  appealing  that  the  man 
gasped  in  astonishment. 


DONALD   MACDONALD,   M.D.        7 

As  it  is  with  many  who  wear  bluntness  like  a 
cloak,  Donald  possessed  a  deep-seated  appreciation 
of  the  beautiful,  without  being  capable  of  expressing 
it.  But  now  he  vaguely  realized  that  here,  where 
he  would  last  have  looked  for  it,  he  had  blundered 
upon  a  child  whom  Mother  Nature  had  designed 
lovingly  and  with  painstaking  care,  perhaps  in  order 
to  satisfy  herself  that,  in  the  bustle  of  creation  which 
nowadays  left  her  little  time  for  attention  to  fine 
detail,  her  hands  had  not  wholly  lost  the  cunning 
which  was  theirs  when  the  world  was  young  and 
women  were  few  and  fair. 

Her  face  had  the  qualities  of  a  sweet  wild-flower, 
delicate  of  form  yet  hardy  enough  to  stand  up  under 
the  stress  of  a  storm.  A  critic  might  have  declared 
the  sensitive  mouth  a  shade  too  broad  for  the  taper- 
ing lines  which  formed  the  firmly  rounded  chin; 
he  might  have  said  that  the  upper  lip,  against  which 
its  companion  was  now  tightly  pressed  to  check 
its  trembling,  was  too  short  for  classic  beauty;  but 
he  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  find  a  flaw  in  the 
molding  of  the  straight,  slender  nose  or  the  broad 
forehead,  or  the  cheeks  which  curved  as  symmetrically 
as  the  petals  of  a  damask  rose,  or  —  if  he  were  human 
—  with  the  faint  shadows  at  the  corners  of  the  lips 
which  were  not  dimples,  but  fascinatingly  suggested 
them.  But,  above  all,  it  was  the  child's  eyes,  heavy 
with  a  sudden  rush  of  unshed  tears  that  merely  added 
to  their  appealing  charm,  which  left  the  strongest 
impression  on  the  man.  They  were  remarkable 


8  "SMILES" 

eyes,  long  of  lash  and  of  a  deep  blue  with  limpid 
purple  shadows  and  golden  highlights. 

Her  form,  untrammelled  by  confining  clothing  and 
bending  naturally,  was  slender  and  lithesome,  but 
full  of  curves  which  told  that  the  bud  of  childhood 
was  just  beginning  to  open  into  the  blossom  of  early 
maturity  —  about  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  old,  Donald 
guessed  her  to  be. 

At  her  feet  lay  an  overturned  kettle  the  contents 
from  which,  a  simple  stew,  was  sending  up  a  cloud 
of  steam  from  the  rough  floor,  and  explained  the 
reason  for  the  misty  eyes  and  tenderly  nursed  ankle. 

The  whole  picture  was  graven  on  his  mind  in  a 
single  glance;  but,  the  next  instant  the  sunniest, 
most  appealing  of  smiles  broke  through  the  girl's 
pain-drawn  tears. 

"Yo'  .  .  .  yo'  looked  so  funny  a-fallin'  over  thet 
thar  dawg,  an'  a-rollin'  on  the  floor,"  her  words 
bubbled  forth. 

"I'm  glad  that  you  have  something  to  laugh  about, 
but  dev  .  .  .  deucedly  sorry  that  I  made  you  burn 
yourself,  child,"  answered  Donald,  awkwardly.  "It 
must  hurt  like  the  .  .  .  the  mischief,"  he  added, 
as  he  stepped  forward  to  examine  the  injury  with  a 
quick  return  to  his  professional  manner. 

"Wall,  hit  do  burn,  kinder.  But  taint  nothin'." 
She  sniffed  bravely,  but  a  tear  overflowed  its  reservoir 
and  made  a  channel  through  a  smudge  on  her  cheek. 

•'Well,  I  happen  to  be  a  doctor  —  when  I'm  not 
on  a  vacation  — •  so  I  can  do  a  little  toward  repairing 


DONALD  MACDONALD,   M.D.        9 

the  damage  I  caused."  He  was  already  unfastening 
the  small  first-aid  kit  which  experience  had  taught 
him  never  to  go  without. 

"Taint  nothin',  sir,  really.  I'll  jest  put  some 
lard  on  hit,  an'  .  .  ."  began  the  girl,  timidly  back- 
ing away. 

Donald  did  not  stop  to  argue,  but  placed  his 
strong  hands  on  either  side  of  her  slender  waist 
and  lifted  her  lightly  to  the  homemade  table,  while 
she  gasped  and  again  the  wonderful  smile,  more 
shy  this  time,  transformed  her  tear-stained  face. 
In  silence,  and  with  flying,  experienced  fingers, 
the  physician  applied  a  soothing  salve  to  the  blotchy 
red,  fast-swelling  burn  on  the  ankle,  and  deftly 
bandaged  it. 

"There,"  he  said.  "You  won't  know,  in  a  few 
fninutes,  that  anything  has  happened." 

"Thank  ye,  sir,"  said  the  girl,  as  he  lifted  her 
again  and  allowed  her  to  slip  gently  to  the  floor. 
uYo'  shore  knows  how  ter  do  up  a  foot.' 

She  hopped  gingerly  over  to  the  fireplace,  and  began 
to  clear  up  the  wreck  of  supper,  first  calmly  lifting 
the  dog  away  from  the  steaming  hot  meat  which 
his  quivering  nose  was  inquisitively  approaching. 

"Be  careful.     Mike  might  ..." 

"Oh,  he  won't  bite  me"  She  broke  into  his 
warning,  and  gave  a  playful  tug  at  the  coarse  hair  on 
the  animal's  neck.  Somewhat  to  Donald's  surprise, 
Lhe  dog  wiggled  ecstatically  at  the  friendly  advances 
ind  paid  his  lowly  homage  by  licking  her  bare  foot. 


10  « SMILES 


"Never  mind  that  mess,  I'll  clean  it  up  if  you'll 
get  me  a  shovel.  And  of  course  I  mean  to  pay  for 
it,"  said  Donald  hastily. 

i  "In  course  yo'  won't  do  no  seen  thing.  We-all's 
got  plenty  uv  pertaties,  —  I  growed  'em  myself,  — 
this  yere  meat  haint  hurt  a  mite,  an'  water's  cheap," 
she  responded.  "Yo'  jest  take  a  cheer,  mister, 
an'  yo'  kin  hev  supper  along  with  us  as  soon  as  grand- 
pap  comes,  which'll  be  right  soon,  I  reckon.  We-all 
don't  see  stranger  folks  much  up  yere,  an'  he'll 
be  plumb  glad  thet  ye  drapped  in."  She  tossed  a 
morsel  of  meat  to  the  expectant  Mike;  then  added 
shyly,"  An' so  be  I." 

"Well,  I  certainly  'drapped,'"  laughed  Donald. 
"It  looked  as  though  all  the  dogs  south  of  the  Mason- 
Dixon  line  had  gathered  to  give  Mike  and  me  a  warm, 
if  not  cordial,  welcome,  so  we  didn't  stop  to  knock 
before  coming  in." 

"Lucky  fer  ye  thet  yo'  struck  a  cabin  whar  the 
latch  string  air  allus  out,"  she  answered,  her  silver 
laughter  echoing  his.  "I  hadn't  a'  ought  ter  hev 
been  so  skeered,  but  I  warn't  payin'  no  attention  ter 
all  the  barkin',  fer  I  jest  allowed  thet  the  dawgs 
hed  treed  a  coon,  er  somep'n.  Yo'  see  they  haint 
exactly  fond  o'  strangers,  an'  they  be  powerful 
fierce.  I  reckon  they'd  hev  gobbled  Mike  right  up." 

Donald  glanced  affectionately  at  the  wiry  mass 
of  bone  and  sinew  which  went  to  make  the  police 
dog  every  inch  a  warrior,  and  doubted  it.  The 
child  had  finished  her  task,  and  started  the  stew  to 


DONALD  MACDONALD,   M.D.      11 

heating  again  over  the  fire,  and  now  she  turned, 
swept  back  the  mass  of  curls  from  her  heated  face 
with  a  graceful  motion  of  her  shapely  arm,  and  stood 
regarding  him  with  frank  curiosity.  Donald  had 
no  intention  of  remaining  longer,  or  accepting  the 
hospitable  invitation,  but  there  was  a  touch  of  romance 
in  the  adventure,  and  a  strong  appeal  in  the  girl 
herself,  which  caused  him  to  hesitate,  and  linger 
to  ask  a  few  questions  about  the  neighborhood  and 
her  life.  When  he  did  regretfully  pick  up  his  cap 
and  rifle,  and  call  the  dog,  who  turned  protestingly 
from  her-who-dispensed-savory-pieces-of-meat,  he 
found  that  he  had  suffered  the  fate  of  all  who  hesi- 
tate, for  a  glance  through  the  window  showed  him 
that,  although  the  glowing,  iridescent  reflection 
from  the  western  sky  still  lingered  in  the  mountain 
top,  embroidering  its  edge  with  gold,  it  was  fast 
fading,  and  already  Night  had  spread  her  dusky  man- 
tle over  the  eastern  slope.  Already  darkness  had 
blotted  out  the  lower  reaches. 


CHAPTER  II 

ENTER   BIG   JERRY 

As  Donald  stopped,  uncertain,  there  came  the 
sound  of  measured,  heavy  footfalls  on  the  beaten 
dirt  path  outside  the  cabin.  The  girl's  face  lighted 
up  joyfully;  she  hopped  to  the  door,  flung  it  open, 
and  a  slightly  stooping,  but  gigantic,  form  stepped 
in  out  of  the  darkness,  caught  her  up  in  his  huge  arms 
and  submitted  with  a  quizzical  smile  while  she  pulled 
his  face  toward  hers  by  tugging  at  his  long  beard, 
and  kissed  him. 

Across  the  tumbled  masses  of  her  hair  the  new- 
comer's still  piercing  dark  eyes,  blinking  a  little 
under  their  shaggy  brows  as  the  fire  leaped  in  the 
draft  from  the  open  door,  caught  sight  of  Donald  as 
he  stood  back  among  the  shadows.  He  straightened 
up  suddenly,  and  his  brows  drew  together  in  a  sus- 
picious scowl. 

The  city  man  knew  enough  of  the  primitive  code 
of  the  mountain  people  to  understand  that  the  pres- 
ence of  a  man,  —  especially  a  strange  man,  —  alone 
in  the  house  with  a  young  woman,  was  fraught  with 
unpleasant  possibilities.  But,  before  he  could  speak, 
the  child-woman  had  launched  into  a  vivacious,  if 
ungrammatical,  explanation  and  story  of  what  had 


ENTER  BIG  JERRY  13 

occurred.  In  substantiation  she  now  raised  her 
short  skirt  and  lifted  the  bandaged  foot,  with  utter 
freedom  from  embarrassment,  and  laughed  deliciously 
until  an  answering  smile  crept  slowly  into  the  eyes 
of  the  old  mountaineer. 

With  a  simple  courtesy,  which  seemed  to  hold 
something  of  innate  majesty,  he  stepped  forward, 
and  extended  a  weatherbeaten  hand,  several  sizes 
larger  than  Donald's,  and  boomed  out  hi  a  deep 
voice  that  matched  his  physical  proportions,  "Yo're 
suttinly  welcome,  stranger.  What  happened  warn't 
no  fault  o'  yourn,  and  I'm  plumb  obleeged  ter  ye 
fer  nxin'  up  my  granddarter's  hurt.  Draw  up  a  cheer 
fer  the  stranger,  Smiles,  he'll  jine  us  in  a  bite  er 
supper.  The  fare's  simple,  but  I  war  raised  on't,  and 
'pears  ter  me  thet  I  top  ye  some." 

"I  should  say  that  you  did.  You  make  me  feel 
small,  and  it's  not  often  any  man  does  that  .  .  . 
physically,  I  mean." 

The  two  clasped  hands,  and  Donald  winced  as 
his  own  powerful  fingers  cracked  under  the  crushing 
pressure  of  those  of  the  older  man,  who  seemed 
to  take  a  boyish  delight  in  this  display  of  his  tre- 
mendous strength. 

"What  a  colossus  he  is,"  thought  Donald,  as  he 
gritted  his  teeth  to  keep  back  the  involuntary  excla- 
mation of  pain,  for,  although  the  massive  shoulders 
and  Jovian  head  of  the  mountaineer  were  stooped 
forward,  he  towered  fully  three  inches  above  the 
six  foot  city  athlete,  and  his  iron-gray  beard,  rusted 


14  "  SMILES  " 

with  tobacco  juice  about  his  mouth,  swept  over  his 
chest  almost  to  his  waist. 

"Thanks  for  the  invitation,"  he  said  aloud,  as  he 
covertly  nursed  his  right  hand.  "It's  mighty  kind 
of  you,  but  I  don't  want  to  impose  longer,  and, 
besides,  I'd  better  start  back  to  Fayville  before  it 
gets  dark  altogether.  If  you'll  just  tell  me  the  most 
direct  way,  ..." 

"Wall,  I  reckon  the  most  deerect  way  air  ter  go 
straight  through  the  woods  thar  a  piece,  an'  then 
jump  off'n  a  four  hundred  foot  cliff,"  the  old  man 
chuckled  titanically.  "But  I  likewise  reckon  taint 
pra'tical ;  leastwise,  not  onless  yo'  happen  ter  be  one 
o'  them  new-fangled  aviationeers  I've  hearn  tell 
on.  However,  here  ye  be,  an'  here  yo're  goin'  ter 
stay  twill  atter  supper.  Come,  child.  Sot  on 
another  plate  fer  the  doctor  man." 

"Donald  MacDonald's  my  name,  sir." 

"Peers  like  yo'r  paw  stuttered  when  he  give  yo* 
thet  name,"  laughed  the  giant.  "Mine's  Jerry 
Webb  —  'Big  Jerry, 'they  mostwise  calls  me  hyar- 
erbouts."  There  was  simple  pride  in  the  nickname 
evident  in  his  voice. 

"Of  course,  if  you  really  want  me  to  stay,  I'd  be 
glad  enough  to  do  it,  Mr.  Webb,  although  I  don't 
like  to  cause  any  more  trouble  for  Miss  ..." 

"  'Rose'  air  the  given  name  of  my  leetle  gal,  but 
folks  gener'ly  calls  her  Smiles,  fer  short."  The 
old  man  spoke  with  a  noticeable  tenderness  toning 
his  big  voice. 


"And  there's  no  need  of  explaining  the  reason," 
answered  Donald  in  a  low  aside  so  that  the  child, 
who  was  busy  over  the  stewing  kettle  on  its  primitive 
crane,  might  not  hear.  "I  never  expect  to  see 
another  to  equal  hers." 

His  host  sent  a  sharp  glance  at  him,  then,  softening, 
it  travelled  to  the  graceful  form  of  the  girl  silhouetted 
against  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  open  fire,  whose  reflec- 
tion outlined  her  warm  flesh  with  a  tint  of  burnished 
copper. 

"Yes,"  he  responded  simply.  "Seems  like,  when 
thet  leetle  gal's  sweet  face  lights  up  with  a  smile, 
hit's  like  a  sunbeam  a-breakin'  through  the  leaves 
an'  playin'  on  a  waterpool  in  the  quiet  woods." 

"Oh,"  interrupted  Rose  with  a  cry.  "I  done 
plumb  ferget  ter  git  the  milk  from  Uncle  Perly's, 
but  'twon't  take  more?n  a  minute.  Kin  I  take  Mike  ?  " 
she  added,  pleadingly,  as  she  buried  her  slim  fingers 
in  the  rough  hair  on  the  dog's  neck,  while  he  stood 
sniffing  acquaintance  with  the  huge  boots  and  home- 
spun pantaloons  of  the  giant. 

"Sure;  that  is  if  you're  not  still  afraid  that  the 
neighbors'  dogs  will  make  a  meal  of  him,"  smiled 
Donald,  and  the  object  of  the  conversation,  who 
seemed  to  sense  its  meaning,  sprang  eagerly  erect 
and  placed  his  forepaws  on  the  girl's  breast. 

"No  dawg  haint  a-goin'  ter  tetch  him  whilst  he's 
with  me,"  she  responded  with  quiet  assurance. 
"Come,  Mickey." 

"Which  air  a  fact,"  supplemented  her  grandfather, 


16  "  SMILES  " 


as  girl  and  dog  disappeared  with  a  rush  and  a  bark. 
"  Dumb  beasts  an'  children  worships  Smiles  — 
an'  hit  haint  scarse  to  be  wondered  at,  fer  she  love  'em 
all.  An'  she's  more  rememberful  than  her  grand- 
pappy.  Yo'  see,  we  don't  gener'ly  hev  milk  fer 
our  coffee,  'ceptin'  when  company  comes." 

In  some  distress  at  this  frank  announcement, 
Donald  said,  "But  I  don't  like  to  have  you  put 
yourselves  out  for  me.  I  wouldn't  have  stayed 
if  ..." 

"  Now,  don't  let  thet  idee  disturb  ye  a  mite.  We're 
glad  ter  hev  ye  with  us,  an'  what  fer  air  friends  ef 
hit  haint  ter  be  an  excuse  fer  a  leetle  extry  celebra- 
tion? Set  down,  set  down  thar." 

Donald  obeyed,  and,  while  his  host  moved  ponder- 
ously about,  depositing  the  contents  of  a  bundle  which 
he  had  brought,  studied  his  surroundings  curiously. 
It  was  his  first  experience  within  a  real  "feud  coun- 
try" cabin,  and  he  was  interested  to  see  how  closely 
its  appearance  coincided  with  what  his  imagination 
had  painted  from  reading  fiction  woven  about  them. 
To  his  quiet  delight  he  found  that  it  might  almost 
have  served  as  an  illustration  for  such  a  book,  as, 
one  by  one,  he  mentally  checked  off  the  salient 
features.  There  were  the  hand-hewn  timbers  of 
wall  and  unsheathed  ceiling;  the  yawning  rough 
stone  fireplace  with  its  wrought  iron  crane,  and, 
above  it,  a  rifle  whose  unusual  length  proclaimed 
its  ownership;  the  strings  of  dried  herbs  and  red 
pepper  pods  —  few,  to  be  sure,  and  dusty  with  age  — 


ENTER  BIG  JERRY  17 

suspended  from  the  rafters;  and,  in  one  corner,  a 
crude  ladder  leading  into  the  loft. 

Only  one  thing  was  missing,  the  wall-beds  or 
bunks,  for  the  hand  of  civilization  had  pointed  to 
one  improvement,  and  doors,  obviously  not  a  part 
of  the  original  simple  structure,  opened  into  a  small 
addition,  roughly  partitioned  into  two  sleeping 
rooms.  They  were  of  equal  size,  but  there  was  no 
need  of  labels  to  proclaim  their  occupants,  for  one 
was  so  nearly  rilled  with  a  bed  which  would  have 
served  for  Golden  Locks'  biggest  bear,  that  the 
rough  clothing  which  was  suspended  from  wooden 
pegs  on  the  opposite  wall  hung  against  it,  whereas 
the  other  contained,  besides  a  narrow  bed,  a  small 
chest  of  drawers  with  a  cheap  mirror  above  it,  and 
a  chair.  The  one  window  was  draped  with  a  daintily- 
flowered  material,  which  Donald  decided  was  calico, 
a  cover  of  the  same  material  lay  across  the  chest, 
and  on  it  —  in  the  place  of  honor  between  an  old 
comb  and  brush  stood  a  small  blue-and-white  jar, 
whose  cheaply  glazed  surface  caught  the  flicker  of  the 
fire  and  winked  at  him  as  though  it  were  aware  of 
the  absurdity  of  anything  so  trivial  being  held  in 
such  high  esteem.  More  of  the  "calico,"  which 
really  was  an  inexpensive  but  tasteful  chintz,  hung 
against  the  wall  and  served  to  hide  from  prying 
eyes  the  child's  meagre  wardrobe,  and  a  bow  of 
it  was  perkily  tied  to  the  back  of  the  chair. 

Donald  smiled  his  amusement  and  caught  an 
answering  grin  on  Big  Jerry's  face.  "She  haint 


18  "SMILES" 


like  we-all,"  he  said.  "Wants  ter  hev  bright  an' 
purty  things  erbout,  an'  .  .  ."he  lowered  his  voice, 
"durned  ef  she  didn't  make  me  a  necktie  of  thet  thar 
stuff  —  seen  one  on  a '  f  urriner '  once. "  The  visitor  felt 
a  warm  satisfaction  over  the  thought  that  his  own  cos- 
tume didn't  include  such  excess  adornment. 

"I  put  hit  on  ...  once,  ter  please  her,  but  I 
reckon  hit  didn't  make  much  of  a  showin'  under  this" 
He  ran  his  fingers  reflectively  through  his  heavy 
beard  for  a  moment;  then,  with  his  voice  still  a 
forte  whisper,  he  added,  "Say,  stranger,  I've  got 
a  leetle  drap  o'  white  liquor  hid  out  in  the  woodshed 
whar  Smiles  kaint  find  hit,  an'  ef  yo'd  delight  ter 
wet  yo'r  throat  afore  she  comes  back,  why  ..." 

The  door  flew  open  with  a  bang,  and  Rose  and 
Mike  tore  in,  panting  and  a-glitter  with  diamond 
drops  of  rain.  Instantly  the  expression  of  simple 
guile  on  the  old  man's  face  changed  so  ludicrously  to 
one  of  overdone  innocence  that  it  was  all  Donald 
could  do  to  keep  from  laughing. 

''Storm's  a-comin',"  cried  the  girl,  gayly,  while 
the  dog  rushed  madly  around  the  room,  with  his 
nose  to  the  floor  and  barking  hilariously,  until  his 
master  seized  him  by  the  back  and  held  him,  squirm- 
ing. A  flash  of  distant  lightning  substantiated  the 
announcement,  and  a  few  seconds  later  their  ears 
caught  the  crescendo  reverberations  of  thunder 
as  it  echoed  down  the  valley. 

Mike  growled  uneasily  and  crouched  close  to  his 
master's  legs,  but  Rose  ran  again  to  the  door  and 


ENTER  BIG   JERRY  19 

stood,  heedless  of  the  rain  which  beat  in  upon  her 
wind-whipped  skirt,  peering  out  with  evident  delight. 
A  still  more  vivid,  zigzag  flash  rent  the  serried  masses 
of  black  storm-clouds  which  were  rolling  up  over  the 
mountain's  top,  edging  the  nearer  one  with  fire,  and  she 
laughed  merrily  and  clapped  her  hands  like  a  child. 

"Shet  thet  door,  yo'  young  vixen,"  bellowed  Big 
Jerry,  plainly  disturbed.  The  girl  obeyed,  and  gave 
him  a  kiss,  and  the  whining  dog  a  reassuring  pat,  as 
she  hurried  back  to  finish  setting  the  table  —  a 
simple  matter,  for  there  was  no  spotless  damask, 
glittering  silver  and  cut  glass  to  deck  the  white-scoured 
top  of  the  plain  slab  which  formed  a  substantial 
table  for  many  purposes. 

In  a  moment  she  had  announced,  quite  informally, 
that  supper  was  served;  but,  just  as  the  two  men 
arose  to  take  their  places,  there  came  a  long 
' '  hulloo-oo  "  above  the  sound  of  wind  and  rain.  Again 
Rose  dashed  to  the  door,  with  the  cry,  "Why,  that's 
Judd  Amos ;  I  knows  his  call." 

Without  reason  or  warning  Donald  experienced 
a  quick  tightening  about  his  heart,  the  absurdity  of 
which  caused  him  to  smile.  What  on  earth  was  it 
to  him  if  this  mountain  child's  color  heightened  a 
shade  at  a  familiar  call  in  a  masculine  voice? 

The  next  instant  a  tall  youth,  as  lean  and  sinewy 
as  an  Indian,  stumbled  into  the  room,  with  his  rough 
coat  about  his  head,  and  water  streaming  from  his 
drenched  clothing  and  the  barrel  of  a  gun,  which  was 
every  whit  as  modern  and  efficient  as  Donald's  own. 


20  "  SMILES 


"Gosh  a'mighty,"  he  said.  "Thought  I'd  be 
drownded,  shore.  Hit's  agoin'  ter  be  a  rip-snorter 
.  .  .  worst  storm  er  the  summer,  by  the  way  hit's 
started."  Then,  as  he  dashed  the  rain  from  his 
eyes,  and,  for  the  first  time  caught  sight  of  the  visitor, 
he  stopped  short  in  none  too  pleased  surprise,  if 
the  black  look  which  went  toward  Donald  from 
beneath  his  lowering  brows  meant  anything. 

"Make  ye  acquainted  with  Donald  MacDonald, 
a  doctor  man  from  the  city,  Judd,"  boomed  the 
giant's  hearty  voice.  "Doc,  shake  hands  with  a 
neighbor  uv  ourn,  Judd  Amos." 

As  Donald  stood  up  he  managed  to  silence  Mike's 
throaty  growl  with  a  warning  shove  with  his  foot. 
The  men  formally  clasped  hands,  their  eyes  looking 
steadily  into  each  other's  from  the  same  level,  and 
this  time,  primed  by  his  earlier  experience,  the  city 
man  exerted  all  of  his  strength,  and  felt  a  glow  of 
childish  satisfaction  as  the  other  winced. 

'"Set  ye  down,  Judd.  Draw  a  cheer  up  by  the 
fire,  yo're  soaked,"  said  Big  Jerry.  "Honey-rose," 
he  added,  addressing  the  girl  in  a  wheedling  tone, 
"Judd  'pears  ter  be  powerful  soaked  an'  cold.  Kaint 
he  ...  kaint  we-all  hev  jest  a  drap  o'  white  liquor?" 

He  stroked  his  beard  and  pushed  aside  his  droop- 
ing mustache  in  anticipation,  but  to  no  avail,  for 
her  answer,  uttered  firmly  and  with  no  suggestion 
of  a  smile  in  her  deep  eyes  this  time,  was,  "  'Deed  yo' 
kaint:  nary  a  drap.  Yo'  know,  an'  Juddy,  he 


ENTER  BIG  JERRY 


knows  .  .  ."  to  Donald  there  seemed  to  be  some 
special  significance  in  her  words,  "thet  thar  haint 
a-goin'  ter  be  nary  a  drap  o'  thet  devil's  brew  in 
house  o'  mine.  Why,  I  be  plumb  s'prised  at  ye, 
grandpap." 

The  tremendous  old  man  rubbed  his  whiskers 
faster  and  hemmed  apologetically.  "In  course  I 
haint  got  none  ...  in  the  cabin  .  .  ."  he  glanced 
quickly  at  Donald,  "an'  I  didn't  mean  nothin', 
Smiles.  Come,  swing  yo'r  cheer  erround  ter  the 
table,  Judd,  we'll  jest  fergit  the  eeliments,  an'  enjoy 
a  dry  celebration  in  the  doctor's  honor  ...  all 
'cept  Judd,  he  air  plenty  wet,"  he  added,  hi  a  jocose 
attempt  to  turn  his  mistake  into  a  jest.  "Rose 
hurted  her  foot,  an'  doc,  he  done  hit  up  fer  her  real 
nice." 

More  bashfully  than  before,  the  girl  extended  the 
injured  member  in  its  now  mud-bedraggled  bandage 
for  the  newcomer's  inspection. 

Donald  had  been  watching  the  scene  with  quiet 
amusement  over  the  child's  assurance,  and  had 
noticed  not  only  the  look  of  sorrowful  resignation 
on  her  grandfather's  face,  but  the  dull  flush  which 
mounted  the  swarthy  cheeks  of  the  younger  man. 
Judd's  mouth  retained  the  straight  line  for  some 
time,  but  a  quick  burst  of  light-hearted  song  on 
Smiles'  lips,  as  she  turned  to  dish  up  the  savory 
stew,  showed  that  the  incident  was  forgotten  by  her 
as  soon  as  it  was  ended. 

"Better  let  me  lift  it  down  for  you,"  said  Donald, 


22  "SMILES" 

as  she  swung  the  crane  with  its  heavy  iron  kettle 
from  the  fire.  "We  don't  want  any  more  burns 
here  to-night." 

He  jumped  up  and  acted  on  the  words  without 
giving  the  matter  a  thought,  but  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  girl's  pleased,  "Thank  ye,  sir,"  was  a  bit 
embarrassed,  and  that  the  men  regarded  him  with 
blank  surprise.  Not  for  a  minute  did  it  dawn  upon 
him  that  his  act  had  not  been  according  to  the  code 
of  the  mountains. 

They  were  all  seated  at  last,  but  yet  another  sur- 
prise was  in  store  for  the  visitor,  for  Rose  folded  her 
hands,  bent  her  head  until  the  curls  veiled  the  glow- 
ing face,  and  began  a  simple  blessing.  Big  Jerry 
sat  bolt  upright  with  his  eyes  screwed  up  ludicrously, 
and,  although  Judd  bent  his  head  the  merest  frac- 
tion, it  was  with  obvious  embarrassment,  and  his 
flashing  optics  kept  sending  suspicious  glances  at  the 
"  furriner  "  as  though  to  discover  if  he  were  laughing  at 
them  all.  In  fact,  nothing  was  further  from  Donald's 
mind.  It  had  been  long  since  he  had  partaken  of 
a  meal  at  which  grace  was  said,  but  the  simple, 
homely  words  touched  a  chord  of  memory  and  made 
it  vibrate  to  a  note  which  brought  both  pain  and 
pleasure. 

The  host's  stentorian  "Amen"  was  the  signal  for 
attack,  and  for  a  time  the  business  of  satisfying  the 
demands  of  healthy  hunger  was  paramount  to  all 
things  else.  It  was  no  feast  of  wit  and  wisdom,  but 
of  something,  for  the  time  being,  more  desirable, 


ENTER  BIG  JERRY  23 

and  the  application  of  the  other  three  gave  Donald 
an  opportunity  to  study  covertly  the  unusual  group 
of  which  he  had  so  unexpectedly  become  a  part. 

Although  he  was  essentially  a  man  of  action,  his 
brusqueness  of  manner  was,  in  part  at  least,  a  pose 
which  had  become  unconscious,  and,  deep  within 
his  heart,  in  a  chamber  carefully  locked  from  the 
gaze  of  his  fellow  men,  dwelt  Romance  and  Imagina- 
tion —  the  spirit  gifts  of  a  mother,  whose  death, 
five  years  before,  had  brought  him  his  first  black 
grief.  Had  this  visioning  power  been  lacking  in 
him  he  could  never  have  accomplished  the  modern 
miracles  which  he  had  already  wrought  many  time* 
in  constructive  and  restorative  surgery.  Now,  tht 
spirit  of  imagery  in  his  soul  was  stirred  by  some- 
thing in  the  romantic  unreality  of  his  surroundings  — • 
the  rude,  yet  interesting  room  which  served  all  family 
purposes  save  that  of  slumber ;  the  mellow  radiance 
from  a  crude  lamp  and  the  ever-changing  light  of 
the  open  fire;  the  long,  wavering  shadows  within 
the  cabin ;  and,  without,  the  banshee  wailing  of  the 
storm  wind  around  the  eaves,  the  occasional  crash 
of  thunder,  the  creaking  of  limbs  and  fitful  dashes  of 
rain.  He  found  himself  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  mentally  attempting  to  dissect  and  study  not 
the  bodies,  but  the  personalities,  of  the  three  who 
were  the  representatives  of  a  type,  in  manners  and 
customs  at  least,  new  to  him. 

In  his  boyhood,  and  before  the  pressing  demands 
of  his  profession  had  enslaved  him,  Donald  had  been 


24  "  SMILES" 


an  insatiate  reader,  and  now  he  endeavored  to  recall 
to  memory  some  of  the  stories  which  he  had  read 
about  this  strange  people,  whose  dwelling  place  was 
within  the  limits  of  the  busy,  progressive  East,  yet 
who  were  surprisingly  isolated  from  it  by  natural 
barriers,  and  still  more  so  by  traditions  slow  to  perish. 
Pure  of  stock  he  knew  them  to  be,  for  their  unmixed 
blood  had  had  its  fountain  source  in  the  veins  of 
some  of  America's  best  and  earliest  settlers;  primi- 
tive in  their  ideals,  strong  in  their  simple  purposes 
and  passions,  the  products  of,  and  perhaps  even 
now  factors  in,  blood  feuds  whose  beginnings  dated 
back  generations.  And,  although  he  laughed  at 
himself  for  his  imaginings  as  he  remembered  that 
the  twentieth  century  was  ten  years  old,  he  found 
himself  assigning  both  the  men  places  in  his  memory 
picture. 

Big  Jerry,  slow  of  speech,  patriarchal  in  looks  and 
bearing,  powerful  in  body,  became,  to  his  mind's 
eye,  the  venerable  chieftain  of  a  mountain  clan. 
Judd,  with  his  aquiline  face,  which  was  undoubtedly 
handsome  in  a  dark,  brooding  way,  beneath  its 
uncombed  shock  of  black  hair  which  swept  low  over 
his  forehead,  sinewy  with  the  strength,  quickness 
and  much  of  the  natural  grace  of  a  panther,  was  the 
typical  outlaw  of  the  hills. 


CHAPTER  III 

AN  INNOCENT   SERPENT   IN  EDEN 

DONALD  turned  his  appraising  gaze  upon  the 
child,  and  here  the  illusion  yielded  to  another,  quite 
different. 

Even  her  primitive  dress,  her  unbound  hair,  her 
crude  forms  of  speech  and  soft,  drawling  intonation 
—  such  as  the  throaty,  unvarying  pronunciation 
of  "the"  as  though  it  were  "ther,"  and  "a"  like 
"er"  —  which  sounded  so  deliciously  odd  to  his 
New  England  ears,  could  not  erase  from  his  mind  the 
impression  that  she  did  not  belong  in  the  picture. 
To  be  sure  he  had,  during  his  tramps,  already  seen 
many  a  wild  mountain  flower  so  delicately  sweet 
that  it  seemed  out  of  place  amid  its  stern  environ- 
ment. But  Rose  affected  him  differently,  although 
the  difference  was  subtle,  indefinable. 

In  the  company  of  the  men  he  was  conscious  of 
the  reserve  which  one  of  his  type  instinctively  feels 
when  first  in  the  presence  of  people  of  another  race 
or  class.  With  her  he  was  already  wholly  at  his 
ease.  Donald  finally  attributed  this  to  the  fact 
that  she  was,  after  all,  merely  a  child  —  one  of  a  class 
which  is  akin  the  world  over,  and  which  he  under- 
stood better  than  any  other. 

25 


26  "SMILES" 

As  the  simple  meal  progressed,  Big  Jerry  began 
to  ply  the  visitor  with  questions,  and  press  him  to 
talk  on  many  subjects  connected  with  the  wide 
world  of  men;  and,  as  Donald's  natural  reticence 
yielded  to  the  naive  interrogations,  he  answered 
with  a  readiness  which  somewhat  surprised  even 
himself.  The  child  ate  little;  but  sat  with  her 
elbows  on  the  table,  her  firmly  rounded  chin  resting 
on  her  clasped  hands,  and  drank  in  his  words.  Her 
luminous  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face,  and  expressions 
of  wonder  and  delight  chased  each  other  across  her 
own  countenance,  like  wavering  light  and  shade  on 
a  placid  pool. 

Judd,  too,  remained  silent,  ill  at  ease,  and  his 
dark,  morose  eyes  ever  shifted  from  the  face  of  the 
man  to  that  of  the  girl.  Once,  while  Donald  and 
his  host  were  engaged  in  an  animated  discussion,  he 
awkwardly  attempted  to  draw  Rose  into  personal 
conversation;  but  he  relapsed  again  into  moody 
silence  when  he  received  a  frank,  though  smiling, 
rebuff.  Clearly  the  meal  was  not  an  enjoyable  one 
for  him. 

All  things  of  human  invention  come  to  an  end,  and 
at  last  Big  Jerry  lifted  his  towering  frame  from  his 
chair  to  indicate  that  the  supper  was  over.  With 
obvious  relief  Judd  crossed  to  the  door  and,  opening 
it,  announced  that  the  storm  had  nearly  passed. 
It  was  still  raining,  however. 

"  Ef  yo'  air  goin'  back  ter  the  village,  stranger, 
I'll  be  pleased  ter  sot  ye  on  yo'r  way,"  he  an- 


AN  INNOCENT  SERPENT  IN  EDEN   27 

nounced  as  he  drew  on  his  coat^and  to  Donald's 
mind  the  sentence  carried  an  unmistakable  double 
entente. 

Nevertheless  he  answered  promptly,  "Thanks,  I'd 
be  much  obliged  if  you  would.  Perhaps  Mr.  Webb 
can  spare  me  a  lantern,  too,  since  these  paths  are 
unfamiliar  to  .  .  . " 

"Sho,  yo  haint  a-goin'  out  er  this  house  ter-night, 
friend,"  broke  in  the  old  man.  "Leastwise,  ef 
yo'r  willin'  ter  put  up  with  sech  accommodations  as 
the  loft  room  offers  ye.  Thar  haint  no  sense  of  yer 
takin'  er  five-mile  walk  through  them  drenched 
bushes,  an'  gittin'  soaked  yerself." 

"In  course  yer  goin'  ter  stay,"  echoed  the  girl, 
with  childlike  delight.  "Besides,  I  wants  ter  heal 
lots  more  erbout  the  city  an'  city  folks." 

"But  I  have  already  imposed  enough  on  your 
hospitality,"  protested  Donald,  hesitatingly,  since 
the  invitation  held  a  strong  appeal  for  him. 

"Yo'  haint  imposed  at  all.  Set  yo'rself  down.  I 
shore  appreciates  yo'r  company." 

Judd  scowled  from  the  doorway,  then  flung  back 
over  his  shoulder  a  short,  "Wall,  I  reckon  I'll  be 
startin'  home  now,"  and,  without  further  words, 
he  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him  with  un- 
necessary violence.  Donald  said  nothing,  but  he 
was  frankly  amused;  for  it  was  very  apparent  that 
the  young  mountaineer  felt  that  he  had  a  proprietary 
interest  in  Rose,  and  was  undisguisedly  jealous  of 
the  stranger  who  was  held  in  such  high  favor. 


28  "SMILES'* 

Rose,  however,  lost  no  time  thinking  of  her  lover, 
—  if  lover  she  regarded  him,  —  but  flew  about  the 
final  household  duties,  humming  happily,  and  now 
and  then  breaking  into  unfinished  snatches  of  song 
like  a  wild  wood  bird.  Evidently  the  slight  burn 
no  longer  troubled  her  and  was  already  forgotten. 

Her  work  finished,  she  joined  the  two  men,  who 
were  smoking  their  pipes  before  the  blazing  fire,  and 
seated  herself  crosslegged  at  her  grandfather's  feet. 
Mike  got  up  leisurely  from  his  post  beneath  his 
master's  chair,  stretched  forward  and  back,  yawned 
prodigiously,  and  then  lay  down  with  his  shaggy 
head  on  the  girl's  bare  legs.  As  Donald  talked, 
Rose  played  with  the  dog,  rolling  him  over  and  rubbing 
his  underbody  until  his  mouth  opened  in  a  grotesque 
animal  imitation  of  her  own  wonderful  smile,  which 
constantly  flashed  to  her  lips  like  a  ray  of  light,  only 
to  vanish  as  swiftly,  and  leave  its  slowly  fading  after- 
glow in  her  deep  eyes. 

"Dr.  Mac,"  said  the  child  timidly,  during  a  mo- 
ment of  contented  silence,  her  natural  use  of  his 
intimate  nickname,  both  startling  and  pleasing 
Donald,  "  yo-all  allowed  thet  yo'  doctored  children 
mostly.  I  loves  babies  more'n  anything  else  in  the 
world,  'ceptin'  only  grandpap ;  they're  so  purty  an* 
sweet  an'  helpless-like,  thet  I  reckon  the  Lord  loves 
'em  powerful,  an'  the'  haint  nothin'  finer  then  takin' 
keer  of  'em." 

Donald  nodded  with  pleasure,  and  the  girl  con- 
tinued, dreamily : 


AN  INNOCENT  SERPENT  IN  EDEN   29 

"I  allows  thet,  when  God  made  people  an'  put 
the  breath  o'  life  inter  them,  he  hadn't  quite  got 
outer  his  mind  what  tie  done  on  an  earlier  day,  an' 
was  jest  improvin'  on  hit;  fer  hit  sorter  seems  ter 
me  thet  big  men  an'  women  air  like  growin'  trees, 
fashioned  fer  ter  stand  up  agin  ther  eliments  an' 
storms  most  times;  but  babies  air  like  tiny  leetle 
flowers  —  so  weak  an'  tender  thet  we  hev  ter  take 
mighty  good  keer  of  'em.  Don't  yo'  never  feel, 
somehow,  like  yo'  was  tendin'  a  gyarden  of  purty 
flowers,  an'  a-drivin'  away  the  grubs  an'  bugs  what 
would  make  'em  wilt  an'  die?" 

"To  be  sure  I  do,  my  child,"  he  answered,  woa- 
dering  if  she  realized  how  apt  was  her  simile,  since 
most  disease  is,  indeed,  caused  by  "bugs  an'  grubs." 
"And  many  people,  with  imaginations  like  yours, 
have  felt  exactly  the  same.  Did  you  ever  read  a 
poem  called  'The  Reaper'?  No,  I  suppose  not," 
he  added,  as  the  girl  shook  her  curls,  while  a  wistful 
look  crept  into  her  eyes. 

"It  was  written  by  Longfellow,  a  very  famous 
poet  who  used  to  live  near  my  home  city  of  Boston, 
and  no  man  ever  loved  little  children  better  than 
he  did.  I  had  to  learn  the  verses  years  ago  when  I 
was  a  schoolboy,  and  I  remember  the  first  of  them 
still  :- 

"'There  is  a  Reaper,  whose  name  is  Death, 

And,  with  his  sickle  keen, 
He  reaps  the  bearded  grain  at  a  breath, 
And  the  flowers  that  grow  between.' 


30  "  SMILES  " 

"For  —  he  has  the  Reaper  say  —  the  Lord  has  need 
of  the  pretty  flowers  to  make  his  garden  in  Heaven 
more  bright  and  fair." 

"I  never  thought  er  thet,"  said  the  girl  seriously, 
"but  I  reckon  hit's  so.  Grandpap's  bearded  like 
the  grain,  but  somehow  he  'pears  ter  me  more  like 
er  big  pine  tree,  fer  grain  bends  before  ther  wind, 
an'  he  haint  never  bent  ter  no  storm." 

"And  I?  Am  I  a  tree,  too,"  queried  Donald  with 
amusement. 

She  studied  him  judiciously  and  then  answered 
with  quiet  assurance,  "Yo're  the  oak.  Hit  don't 
bend,  neither." 

"And  yourself?" 

"Why,"  she  laughed,  "I'm  jest  a  rose  like  my 
name.  A  rose  jest  growin'  inter  er  bush." 

"To  be  sure  you  are.  Except  that  roses  have 
thorns." 

"I  hev  thorns,  too,"  she  said  with  conviction, 
and  Donald  doubted  it  —  then. 

"I  should  plumb  love  ter  take  keer  of  babies  an' 
make  'em  well  an'  strong  like  yo'  do,"  she  went  on 
pensively. 

"Perhaps you  may,  someday.  You'll  have  babies 
of  your  own." 

"Yes,"  was  her  simple  reply,  "I  shall  have  babies 
ter  love  an'  keer  for,  but  I  meant  thet  I  wanted  ter 
help  all  little  children." 

"A  children's  nurse,  perhaps,  like  those  who  work 
With  me,"  and  he  went  on  to  tell  her  graphically  of 


AN  INNOCENT  SERPENT  IN  EDEN  31 

the  wonderful  things  done  at  the  Children's  Hospital, 
upon  the  staff  of  which  he  was. 

Rose  listened,  as  enchanted  as  a  child  with  a 
fairy  story,  —  and  indeed  such  it  was,  a  modern 
fairy  tale  wherein  medicine  was  a  magic  potion,  and 
the  merciful  knife  a  magic  wand.  Told  in  simple 
language  which  she  could  understand,  his  story  of 
the  work  in  which  his  very  life  was  bound  up  seemed 
to  her  like  an  epic,  and,  when  he  paused,  she  drew 
her  breath  with  a  sigh  of  keen  delight,  and  cried, 
"Oh,  granddaddy.  Haint  thet  a  wonderful  thing 
fer  ter  do?  I  shorely  wants  ter  be  a  trained  nurse 
like  thet  when  I  grows  up." 

" Perhaps  you  will,  some  day,  who  knows?"  said 
Donald  thoughtlessly. 

"An'  what  would  this  hyar  old  pine  do  without 
the  rosebush  blossomin'  close  beside  him?  What 
would  the  leetle  wild  mountain  flowers  hyarabouts 
do  without  thar  Smiles  ter  take  keer  o'  them?" 
asked  the  old  man  tenderly,  but  with  a  hidden  under- 
current of  distress. 

"But  ef  I  could  larn  ter  take  better  keer  o'  them 
..."  began  the  girl. 

The  old  man  moved  uneasily,  then  said,  "Wall, 
yo're  only  a  leetle,  rosebud  yerself  now,  an'  hit's 
more'n  time  yo'  closed  up  fer  the  night.  Run  erlong 
ter  bed,  hon." 

Obedient,  but  a  little  rebellious,  Rose  got  up  slowly, 
kissed  the  strong,  weather-scarred  cheek  of  the  old 
man  and  turned  toward  the  door  of  her  room. 


32  "SMILES" 

"Good  night,  Smiles,"  called  Donald.  She  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  then  ran  back  to  him  with  childish 
impetuosity,  flung  her  slender  arms  about  his  neck 
and  kissed  him,  too,  whispering,  "I  loves  ye,  Dr. 
Mac,  fer  thet  yo'  loves  little  children." 

The  frank  embrace  embarrassed  him  a  little,  and 
he  felt  the  thrill  of  an  almost  unknown  glow  in  his 
heart.  Many  a  tune  his  patients  —  even  those  as 
old  as  Rose  —  had  kissed  him  thus ;  but  something 
in  her  act  left  a  new  impression.  Judged  by  the 
standards  of  the  mountain  folks  she  was  almost  a 
woman,  and  he  knew  it. 

Mike  pattered  to  her  door  as  it  closed,  scratched 
upon  it  with  a  low  whine,  and  then  lay  down  close 
against  it. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  in  the  room  as  the 
men,  each  busy  with  his  own  thoughts,  puffed  steadily. 
Then  Big  Jerry  carefully  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe  and  remarked,  "Hit  haint  no  fault  er  yourn, 
stranger;  but  I  haint  altergether  pleased  at  ther 
thoughts  yo'r  comin'  hes  placed  in  my  leetle 
gal's  head.  She  won't  easy  ferget  what  yo'  done 
told  her,  an'  .  .  .  an'  I  couldn't  bear  fer  ter  lose 
her." 

"I'm  sorry.  I  spoke  without  thinking  that  it 
might  result  in  her  becoming  discontented,"  answered 
Don.  "To-morrow  I'll  try  to  make  her  understand 
—  what  is  a  fact  —  that  although  her  loving  heart 
might  be  ever  so  eager,  her  ways  and  those  of  the 
city  are  so  utterly  different  that  she  couldn't  possibly 


AN  INNOCENT  SERPENT  IN  EDEN   S3 

hope  to  go  there  and  become  a  nurse  such  as  I  de- 
scribed.   You  understand  what  I  mean." 

"Yes,  an'  I'd  be  powerful  obleeged  ter  ye,  friend," 
replied  the  old  man  with  evident  relief.  "Hit's  es 
yo'  say.  Rose  air  er  mountain  gal  by  bringin'  up, 
ef  not  by  birth,  an'  'tis  hyar  thet  she  rightfuDy 
belongs  now." 


CHAPTER  IV 

"SMILES" 

"'Nox  by  birth?'"  echoed  Donald,  in  surprise. 
"But  I  thought  that  she  was  your  granddaughter?" 

"An'  so  she  be  —  or  perhaps  my  darter,"  hastily 
answered  Jerry,  realizing  his  error  too  late.  "I 
reckon  I  shouldn't  hev  told  ye,"  he  added  in  distress. 

"Don't  let  any  such  idea  worry  you,  Mr.  Webb. 
Where  she  came  from  is  nothing  to  me,  and,  indeed, 
after  to-morrow  I  shall  probably  never  see  her  again. 
I've  got  to  admit,  though,  that  you  have  aroused  my 
curiosity,  and  I'd  like  to  hear  the  story  that's  behind 
her  presence  here,  if  you  are  willing  to  tell  it." 

The  giant  hesitated,  then  said  slowly,  "Wall, 
I  kaint  think  of  no  reason  why  yo'  shouldn't  hyar 
hit.  Hit  happened  this  erway. 

"Twar  one  mornin',  thirteen  summers  ergone, 
an'  I  war  ergunnin'  down  in  ther  woods  er  pieee, 
not  fur  from  ther  Swift  River.  I  rekerlect  hit  war 
er  purty  mornui',  with  ther  dew  still  er-dingin'  ter 
ther  grass,  an'  sparklin'  —  like  jewels,  an'  ther 
wood  birds  war  singin'  like  they  war  special  happy. 
I  dumb  erround  er  big  rock,  an'  all  of  er  sudden  I 
seen  —  I  seen  er  leetle  mite  of  er  gal,  standin,  thar, 
jest  es  still  es  still.  She  warn't  more'n  three  year 

3* 


"SMILES"  35 

old,  I  jedged,  an'  she  suttinly  come  from  ther  city, 
fer  her  leetle  dress  warn't  like  none  I'd  ever  seen— hit 
hed  sorter  loose  panterloons  ter '  hit,  an',  although 
her  legs  war  bare  —  an'  all  scratched  an'  bleedin'  — • 
thar  war  tiny  socks  an'  shoes  on  'em.  Thar  war 
tears  in  her  big  blue  eyes  an'  on  her  purty  cheeks, 
but  she  warn't  cryin'  none,  then.  No,  sir ;  she  war 
jest  erstandin'  an'  erlookin'  up  ter  whar  a  robin  war 
singin'  in  an  oak  tree,  an'  her  leetle  mouth  war  open 
fer  all  ther  world  like  a  rosebud.  Wall,  es  I  stood 
thar,  erwatchin'  like  I'd  seen  er  fairy,  she  smiles — • 
yo'  know  thet  smile  of  her'n,  like  a  rainbow  breakin' 
fer  er  minute  through  the  rain,  an'  then  fadin'  erway 
slow? 

"I  calls  ter  her  sorter  soft-like,  an'  dang  me  ef 
she  didn't  come  walkin'  right  up  ter  me,  not  a  mite 
erfeered.  She  made  a  funny  leetle  bow,  held  out 
her  chubby  hand  an'  says,  'How  do  ye  do,  big  man. 
Hev  ye  seen  my  papa  an'  mamma  ? ' 

"I  tuck  her  on  my  knee,  an'  leetle  by  leetle  —  fer 
she  couldn't  talk  much  —  she  told  me  thet  they 
come  from  a  great,  big  city  whar  war  'lectric  and 
steam  cyars  an'  policemen,  fer  ter  play  in  the  woods, 
an'  thet  her  pappa  an'  mamma  hed  gone  out  on  the 
water  in  a  boat  ter  ketch  a  fish  fer  baby's  breakfast. 
Thar  boat  hed  runned  erway  with  her  pappa  an' 
mamma,  she  said,  an'  they  war  settin'  in  hit  cryin'. 

"I  reckoned  what  hed  happed  ter  them,  fer  tharer- 
bouts  the  Swift  River  air  a  most  deceevin',  treetcher- 
ous  stream,  what  looks  innocent,  but  hes  a  powerful 


36  "SMILES" 

swift  current  what  don't  show.  City  folks  haint 
no  business  ter  go  campin'  in  woods  thet  they  don't 
know  no  thin'  erbout,"  he  interpolated. 

"Wall,  I  left  the  leetle  gal  ersettin'  on  the  rock, 
an'  runned  es  fast  es  ever  I  could  down  stream  ter 
the  rapids.  Her  folks  warn't  nowhar  ter  be  seen, 
but  I  found  part  of  thar  canoeboat,  smashed  ter 
splinters,  an'  I  guessed  the  rest."  He  paused,  and 
smoked  steadily  for  some  tune  before  continuing. 

"In  course  the  baby  couldn't  tell  us  much,  'ceptin' 
thet  her  name  war  Rose.  She  didn't  remember  the 
name  of  the  city  whar  they  come  from,  but  she  said 
thet  erfore  they  come  inter  the  woods,  she  slept  all 
night  on  a  train. 

"We  found  ther  campin'  outfit  of  her  paw  an* 
maw,  an'  whar  hit  stood  I  built  up  a  leetle  mound 
with  a  sorter  cross  on  hit,  in  thar  memory. 

"In  course,  I  tried  ter  find  out  arterwards  whar 
they  come  from,  but  hit  warn't  no  sorter  use.  Thar 
war  no  address  on  anything  in  the  tent  or  thar  spare- 
close,  and  no  one  hed  seen  them  in  Fayville  or  thar- 
erbouts,  so  I  reckoned  thay  come  clar  ercross  the 
mountains  from  Kentuck.  Mebbe,  ef  I  hed  hed 
more  money,  I  mought  hev  found  out  erbout  them ; 
but  us  war  powerful  po'r  them  days.  An'  —  mebbe, 
again,  hit  war  wrong  —  but  maw  an'  me  couldn't 
holp  thinkin'  thet  the  leetle  gal  war  sent  us  by  the 
good  Lord,  fer  we  didn't  hev  no  children,  hevin' 
lost  a  leetle  gal  jest  erbout  es  old  es  Smiles,  ten 
years  back," 


"SMILES"  37 

"I  don't  think  that  you  have  any  cause  for  re- 
proaching yourself,  Mr.  Webb,"  broke  in  Donald, 
reassuringly.  "It  seems  to  me  that  you  did  all 
you  could  do,  under  the  circumstances.  Certainly 
the  child  was  fortunate,  for  you  have  been  very  kind 
to  the  little  waif." 

"We  war  mostly  kind  ter  ourselves,"  was  Big 
Jerry's  simple  rejoinder.  "She  shorely  hes  been  a 
ray  of  sunshine  in  this  hyar  cabin  —  'specially  since 
maw  died  three  years  ergone,  since  when  Rose  hes 
taken  keer  of  hit,  an'  me.  She  air  a  leetle  mite  of  a 
tyrant,  et  times,  but  I  reckon  I'm  ther  better  fer 
hit. 

"Wall,  we  brung  her  up  like  our  own  flesh  an' 
blood,  but  altho'  she  called  my  woman  'Maw',  she 
allus  called  me  '  Grandpappy. '  An'  we  didn't 
never  try  ter  make  her  fergit  her  real  paw  an'  maw, 
an'  every  birthday  —  leastwise  we  calls  ther  day  she 
come  ter  us  her  birthday  —  she  puts  wild  flowers  on 
the  mound  I  made.  She's  growed  up  like  the  other 
children  hyar,  and  'twar  them  what  fust  called  her 
Smiles ;  but  'twarnt  long  erfore  maw  an'  me  sorter 
got  inter  the  habit  of  doin'  hit  too,  fer  hit  suits  her 
right  well." 

The  speaker  became  silent,  his  memory  dwelling 
in  scenes  of  the  dimming  past,  while  Donald's  thoughts 
were  busy  with  the  story  which  he  had  just  heard. 
The  inherent  difference  between  her  personality  and 
that  of  the  average  mountain  girl  was  explained. 
The  curtsy  which  she  —  a  three-year-old  baby  — 


38  "SMILES" 

had  made  Big  Jerry,  seemed  to  indicate  that  she  had 
been  a  flower  of  city  hothouse  culture  before  being 
transplanted  to  the  wilds,  and  there  growing  up, 
in  outward  semblance  at  least,  in  conformity  with 
her  environment.  But,  Donald  felt,  within  the 
child  lay  an  ineradicable  strain  of  breeding,  making 
her  different  from  these  others,  an  inherited  fineness  of 
soul  of  which  her  peculiar  charm  was  evidence. 

A  little  later  his  host  arose,  and  said  with  native 
courtesy,  "I  reckon  yo're  tired  enough  ter  want  ter 
go  ter  bed,  stranger,  an'  I'll  show  ye  ter  yo'r  loft 
room." 

The  pair  bade  each  other  good-night,  and  Donald 
climbed  the  homemade  ladder  to  his  resting  place 
beneath  the  roof,  on  which  the  rain  was  still  keeping 
up  a  continuous  patter.  He  felt  that  he  was  weary 
enough  so  that  no  rocking  was  needed  to  induce 
slumber,  but  it  was  nevertheless  some  time  before 
he  really  fell  asleep.  And  when  he  did  it  was  with 
the  mental  picture  of  the  child's  smile,  like  a  quickly 
vanishing  sun-rift  hi  the  mist,  before  his  closed  eyes. 


Donald  was  awakened  the  next  morning  by  the 
sound  of  laughing  voices,  and  Mike's  hilarious  bark- 
ing, outside  his  little  window.  Looking  through  it  he 
beheld  a  delightful  picture.  On  the  dew-sprinkled 
grass  of  the  little  clearing  about  the  cottage  were 
merrily  romping  the  dog,  Rose  and  a  small  child. 
Beyond,  lay  the  mountain's  wooded  descent,  rich  in 


"SMILES"  39 

variegated  greens  and  seemingly  rising  like  an  island 
shore  from  a  sea  of  pearly  vapor,  tinted  with  delicate 
mauve,  rose  and  amber  by  the  sun,  which  had  itself 
not  yet  risen  above  the  valley  mist.  Scrambling 
into  his  outer  garments,  the  man  ran  down  to  join 
them  hi  their  game. 

"Look  out,  er  yo'll  git  yo're  feet  wetted,  Mr.  doc- 
tor man,"  cried  Rose  gayly,  as  she  drew  her  own  bare 
foot  through  the  grass  and  held  it  forward  shining 
with  dew. 

"Do  you  think  a  little  thing  like  wet  feet  would 
stop  me  from  getting  into  the  game?"  he  answered. 
"And  you  called  me  a  sturdy  oak !  Who  is  the  little 
buttercup?"  he  added,  looking  at  the  child  whose 
shock  of  bright  golden  curls  made  his  nickname  an 
apt  one. 

"She's  Lou,  Judd's  leetle  sister,  an'  her  house  air 
jest  over  thar  beyond  ourn.  Yo'  guessed  rightly, 
she  air  one  er  my  flower  children,  ain't  ye,  honey- 
sweet?"  Rose  dropped  to  her  knees  in  the  wet 
grass,  and  gathered  the  bashful  child  against  her 
tenderly.  The  baby  buried  her  face  in  her  friend's 
neck  without  speaking,  and  in  a  moment  Rose  stood 
up,  saying,  "We-all  thinks  a  heap  er  Lou,  'specially 
Judd." 

"I've  got  a  little  niece  at  home  just  about  Lou's 
age.  Her  name  is  Muriel.  Would  you  like  to  hear 
about  her  and  her  playthings?  She's  got  a  tiny 
pony  and  cart,"  he  said,  and  soon  the  child  was 
sitting  in  his  lap,  listening  wide-eyed  to  the  description 


40  "SMILES" 

of  dolls  who  opened  and  shut  their  eyes,  and  wonderful 
mechanical  toys  which  walked  and  turned  somer- 
saults, monkeys  which  climbed  poles  and  other  equally 
incredible  things. 

"He  air  a  funny  man,  an'  he  tells  funny  stories," 
giggled  the  child,  when  Donald  had  exhausted  his 
memory  and  imagination.  "In  course  thar  hain't 
no  sech  things." 

"Indeed  thar  air,  ef  he  says  thar  air,"  chided  Rose 
with  implicit  faith  in  her  friend. 

"What,  doll  babies  thet  open  an'  shet  thar  eyes, 
an'  say  'maw'  an'  'paw'  like  weuns.  Smiles?"  asked 
the  baby,  unconvinced. 

"Wait  until  I  go  back  home,  and  I'll  send  you  one 
that  can  do  every  one  of  those  wonderful  things," 
laughed  Donald.  "I  mean  to  send  Rose  a  present, 
too." 

"Oh,"  cried  the  latter,  "I  shall  be  more'n  obleeged 
ter  ye." 

"What  would  you  like  best,"  he  asked. 

She  thought  seriously  a  moment,  then  said,  "I 
reckon  I  should  like  best  a  white  dress  an'  cap,  like 
the  nurses  wear." 

Donald  experienced  a  pang  of  regret,  but  responded 
lightly,  "Very  well,  that  shall  be  yours,  and  I'm 
also  going  to  send  you  a  little  book  of  poems  called 
'The  Child's  Garden  of  Verses',  written  by  another 
man  who  looked  on  babies  as  flowers,  too." 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  quick  footsteps 
caused  them  to  look  up.  Judd  Amos  was  coming 


"SMILES"  41 


around  the  side  of  the  cottage,  and  the  night  had 
apparently  not  taken  the  black  look  from  his  coun- 
tenance. 

"Oh,  Juddy,"  cried  the  baby,  wriggling  free  of 
Donald's  arms.  "Thet  man  thar  air  er  goin'  ter 
send  me  er  doll  baby  thet  opens  an'  shets  hits  eyes, 
Juddy." 

"We're  obleeged  ter  ye;  but  I  reckon  thet  I  kin 
buy  Lou  all  the  presents  she  needs,"  said  Judd 
gruffly.  "YoJ  maw  wants  ye  ter  come  ter  breakfast, 
sis,"  he  added,  and  picked  the  baby  up  in  his  long 
arms,  giving  her  an  undoubtedly  affectionate  hug 
as  he  saw  that  the  tears  had  sprung  to  her  eyes. 

"That's  nonsense,"  snorted  Donald  angrily,  as 
Judd  disappeared  with  his  burden.  "I'll  send  the 
doll  to  you  —  along  with  the  dress  and  book  —  and 
he  can't  stop  you  from  giving  it  to  her." 

"I  reckon  he  kaint,"  Rose  responded  with  eyes 
flashing.  "I  kin  make  Judd  Amos  do  jest  whatso- 
ever I  tells  him."  And  Donald  thought  that  she 
probably  spoke  the  truth. 

"Haint  we  a-goin'  ter  hev  no  breakfast  this 
mornin'?"  came  Big  Jerry's  deep  voice,  toned  to 
assumed  anger,  as  he  appeared  with  an  armful  of 
wood,  and,  laughing  merrily,  Rose  blew  him  a  kiss 
and  disappeared  within-doors. 

During  the  morning  meal,  which  was  quickly 
prepared,  the  girl  talked  continually  of  the  delights 
of  being  a  children's  nurse,  and  as  he  observed  the 
look  of  worry  on  the  old  man's  face,  Donald  deter- 


42  "SMILES" 

mined  to  put  an  end  to  the  child's  rosy,  but  impossible, 
dream  as  soon  as  possible.  His  duty  was  plain 
enough,  even  if  he  had  not  given  his  promise  to  Rose's 
grandfather ;  yet  the  more  he  saw  of  her  the  stronger 
grew  the  unbidden  thought  of  what  a  wonderful 
woman  she  would  make  if  she  could  be  taken  to  the 
city  and  given  the  advantages  of  education. 

His  opportunity  came  when,  breakfast  over,  Big 
Jerry  started  for  the  door,  announcing  that  he  would 
be  back  in  a  few  moments. 

"I'll  wait  for  you  to  return  before  I  go,  and  talk 
to  the  child  as  I  agreed,"  said  Donald,  in  an  under- 
tone. The  old  man  nodded  his  understanding. 

Hardly  knowing  how  to  commence,  Donald  turned 
to  the  girl  and  said  hesitatingly,  "Little  Rose,  I've 
got  to  go  along  in  a  few  moments,  but  first  I  must 
tell  you  something  which  I'm  afraid  will  cause  you 
disappointment." 

Smiles  stepped  close  to  him,  with  her  large  eyes 
filled  with  a  surprised  question. 

"It  is  this.  I  wish,  indeed,  that  you  might  grow 
up  to  be  a  nurse  for  little  children,  such  as  my  story 
last  night  set  you  to  dreaming  of  being,  but,  although 
I'm  sure  you  would  be  a  splendid  one,  it  is  impossible, 
you  know,  dear." 

"Why  haint  hit  possible?"  she  demanded. 

"Well,  you  see,  dear  child,  nurses  of  that  sort 
have  to  study  and  know  almost  as  much  as  doctors. 
They  have  to  train  —  go  to  school  in  the  hospital, 
that  is  —  for  three  years." 


"SMILES"  43 


"But  I  haint  erfeered  ter  work.  I  wants  ter 
study,  an'  larn,"  she  cried  eagerly. 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  .  .  .  well,  it  costs  a  lot  of 
money  in  the  first  place;  nurses  don't  get  any  pay 
while  they're  learning,  and  they  have  to  deposit 
three  hundred  dollars  before  they  can  take  the  course, 
one  hundred  each  year.  Besides  that,  they  have  to 
have  a  good  education  to  start  with.  Probably 
you  don't  know  what  is  meant  by  a  'High  School,' 
but  a  girl  must  have  gone  through  one  —  studied 
steadily  for  twelve  or  thirteen  years  —  or  at  least 
have  an  equivalent  amount  of  education,  before  she 
can  hope  to  enter  the  Children's  Hospital." 

"Wha  .  .  .  what  do  'equivalent'  mean?"  she 
asked,  with  her  lips  beginning  to  tremble  a  little 
from  disappointment. 

"It  means  that  you  would  have  to  know  as  much 
as  though  you  had  gone  through  a  High  School,  and 
be  able  to  pass  an  examination  proving  that  you  do." 

Very  slowly  Rose  turned  back  to  recommence 
her  work,  and  Donald  sensed,  rather  than  saw,  that 
the  tears  were  very  near  to  the  surface.  Another 
roseate  dream  of  childhood  had  been  ruthlessly  shat- 
tered, and  he  hated  himself  for  having  witlessly 
engendered  it  in  her  mind,  since  it  could  only  be 
born  to  die  unrealized. 

When  she  spoke  again,  it  was  to  sky  with  a  tell- 
tale quaver  in  her  subdued  voice,  "I  reckon  thet  us 
mountain  folks  kaint  never  do  worthwhile  things, 
fer  all  sech  take  er  mighty  lot  er  larninV 


44  "SMILES" 

"There  are  two  kinds  of  learning  in  this  world, 
Rose,  one  of  the  mind,  and  the  other  of  the  heart. 
And  without  the  benefits  which  come  from  the  latter, 
the  things  of  the  former  would  be  of  little  use.  You 
may  be  sure  that  helping  one's  neighbors,  as  you  are 
always  helping  yours;  being  happy  yourself  and 
making  others  contented  and  happier,  and  bringing 
smiles  to  the  lips  of  friends  by  the  example  of  your  own 
sweet  smile;  are  things  very  much  worth  while," 
said  Donald,  haltingly,  but  with  sincerity.  He  placed 
his  arm  about  her  slender  shoulder,  with  the  half- 
hope  that  she  would  accept  his  comfort,  and  perhaps 
cry  out  the  last  of  her  disappointment  with  her  head 
on  his  breast.  Instead,  she  turned  sharply  away 
and  went  on  with  the  work  she  had  started,  and  the 
man  followed  her  grandfather  outside,  realizing  that 
hers,  like  most  battles  within  the  soul,  must  be 
fought  out  alone. 

In  a  few  moments,  and  while  he  was  still  talking 
to  Big  Jerry,  Rose  joined  them  on  the  stoop.  A 
quick  glance  at  her  flower  like  face  told  Donald  that 
her  childish  —  but  none  the  less  real  —  grief  was 
banished,  for  a  smile  of  victory  curved  her  lips. 

"Ef  ye  haint  a-goin'  ter  the  city  right  away,  doc- 
tor," said  his  host,  "we  would  be  downright  pleased 
ter  hev  ye  come  up  ergin.  I've  come  ter  like  ye  right 
well." 

"Indeed  I  shall  —  come  every  day  if  I  may,  for 
you  and  little  Rose  seem  like  old  friends  of  mine 
already.  And,  when  I  do  go  back  next  week,  you 


"SMILES"  45 

may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  forget  either  of  you,  or 
your  hospitality." 

He  picked  up  his  rifle  regretfully,  whistled  to 
Mike,  who  came  bounding  to  him,  but  whose  tail 
drooped  ludicrously  when  he  understood  by  canine 
instinct  that  the  call  meant  separation  from  his  new 
comrade,  and  with  a  final  good-bye  wave,  struck 
•ff  into  the  woods. 


CHAPTER  V 

GIVING  AND   RECEIVING 

THE  call  of  the  Jungle  Folk,  "Good  hunting,"  was 
not  fulfilled  during  Donald's  day  in  the  forest.  Game 
there  was  aplenty,  but  he  made  clumsy  work  of 
following  the  fresh  tracks  in  the  wet  wood  mould, 
and  missed  the  one  wild  creature  that  he  saw,  for 
he  shot  at  it  rather  by  instinct  than  design,  and  was 
not  sorry  that  his  bullet  went  wide.  Indeed,  love 
of  the  out-of-doors  and  the  thrill  of  the  chase,  rather 
than  the  wish  to  slay,  drew  him  into  the  woods  for 
his  brief  respites  from  work  and  for  recreation  each 
summer.  He  seldom  killed  except  for  food;  the 
convulsive  pain-drawn  death  struggle,  the  cry  of 
mortal  agony,  and  the  despairing  look  in  the  glazed 
eyes  of  dumb,  stricken  animals  held  no  fascination 
for  him.  He  saw  too  much  of  such  things  among 
human  beings. 

The  day,  truly,  was  a  glory.  The  storm  of  the 
previous  night  had  cleared  and  revivified  the  air, 
which,  for  many  days,  had  been  oppressively  sultry ; 
the  irregular  patches  of  sky,  glimpsed  through  the 
branches,  were  a  transparent  blue;  the  springy 
ground  was  bright  with  wild  blossoms  and  colorful 
berries,  —  dogwood  and  service  berry,  —  adder's 

46 


GIVING  AND  RECEIVING        47 

tongue,  bleeding  heart  and  ferns  in  rich  profusion. 
His  subconscious  senses  drank  in  the  manifold 
beauties,  but  his  active  mind  was  otherwise  engaged. 

To-day  the  solitude,  usually  so  appealing,  so  restful 
after  fifty  work-filled  weeks  amid  the  noisy  turmoil 
of  the  city's  life,  lacked  something  of  its  customary 
charm  and  satisfaction.  The  man  found  himself 
with  a  real  longing  for  the  companionship  of  the 
simple  old  man  and  the  intimate  appeal  of  the  child, 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  enjoyed  for  a  few  hours 
only.  It  was  on  them,  rather  than  on  his  present 
occupation,  that  his  thoughts  were  bent. 

At  last  approaching  night  found  him  safely  back 
in  the  valley  village,  where  the  keeper  of  the  primi- 
tive boarding  house  expressed  her  solicitation  over 
his  prolonged  absence,  as  she  handed  him  several 
letters  which  had  arrived  the  day  previous.  One 
epistle,  from  his  associate  physician,  Dr.  Bentley, 
carried  a  pressing  plea  that  he  return  to  Boston  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  perform  a  difficult  operation. 
The  call  was  so  urgent  that  Donald  regretfully 
concluded  that  duty  demanded  his  compliance. 

He  determined,  however,  not  to  leave  without 
paying  a  final  visit  to  his  new  friends,  and,  soon 
after  sun-up  the  following  morning,  set  forth  for 
Big  Jerry's  cabin,  carrying,  as  a  present  for  Rose, 
a  woven  sweetgrass  basket  filled  with  such  simple 
confections  as  the  general  store  afforded.  Nor  had 
he  forgotten  a  generous  supply  of  pipe  tobacco  for 
her  grandfather. 


48  "SMILES" 

Donald  plunged  into  the  woods  and  headed  for 
Swift  River,  whose  broken,  winding  course  he  followed 
upward  until  he  reached  the  rapids  of  rushing  molten 
silver  and  the  low,  but  dangerous,  fall  which  marked 
the  spot  of  the  early  tragedy  in  the  child's  life.  As 
he  stood  there,  cap  hi  hand,  the  sound  of  a  low 
treble  voice  in  song  fell  on  his  ears,  coming  from  a 
place  not  far  distant. 

Some  one,  alone  under  the  cathedral  arches  of 
the  forest,  was  softly  chanting  the  words  of  the 
simple,  familiar  hymn,  "Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee," 
and,  impelled  by  the  unusualness  of  the  thing  at  such 
an  hour  and  in  such  a  place,  Donald  moved  quietly 
forward  until  the  solitary  singer  was  in  view. 

It  was  Rose.  She  was  kneeling  beside  a  low, 
rounded  mound  covered  with  fresh-gathered  forest 
vines,  and  sprinkled  with  wild  flowers. 

The  meaning  of  the  picture  flashed  at  once  into 
the  man's  mind.  This  was  the  "birthday"  of  little 
Smiles  —  the  anniversary  of  her  advent  to  a  new 
life  —  and  this  her  yearly  pilgrimage  of  love  and 
filial  homage  to  those  barely  remembered  two  who 
had  given  her  being. 

Donald  waited  in  silence,  leaning  against  a  con- 
cealing tree  trunk,  until  the  child  had  ended  her 
act  of  simple  devotion  by  throwing  an  unaffected 
kiss  from  her  finger  tips,  not  towards  the  dead  earth, 
but  upwards  to  the  spirit  world  above. 

Then,  as  she  arose  and  moved  slowly  away,  her 
light  step  barely  disturbing  the  grass,  Donald  fol- 


GIVING  AND  RECEIVING         49 

lowed  and  overtook  her.  The  girl's  greeting,  al- 
though more  subdued  than  on  the  morning  before, 
was  none  the  less  delighted,  and,  with  her  hand 
snuggled  warmly  in  his,  they  made  their  way  to  the 
cabin. 

"I  bids  ye  welcome,  doctor,"  sang  out  Big  Jerry, 
as  he  caught  sight  of  them.  "Hit  shor'  air  a  fine 
day  fer  ter  spend  in  ther  woods." 

"And  I  cannot  spend  it  there,"  answered  Donald, 
ruefully.  "I've  been  called  back  to  the  city  to 
attend  a  little  sick  patient,  and  leave  Fayville  on 
the  noon  train." 

"Wall,  now,  thet  air  too  bad,  an'  hit's  mighty  kind 
er  ye  ter  come  way  up  hyar  erfore  yo'  left,"  said  the 
old  man,  while  the  girl's  new  disappointment,  caused 
by  the  announcement,  was  evident  enough  without 
verbal  expression. 

"  I  brought  you  a  package  of  tobacco,  a  little  token 
of  my  appreciation  for  your  kindness  to  me  night 
before  last,  Mr.  Webb;  and  Rose  a  'birthday'  gift, 
just  a  few  sweets  in  a  basket  which  I  found  at  the 
store,  and  which  struck  me  as  pretty." 

Jerry  stumblingly  expressed  his  gratitude  for  the 
present,  and  Rose  unconsciously  curtsied,  much  as 
she  must  have  thirteen  years  before.  Her  lips  and 
eyes  smiled  her  shy  thanks,  but  it  appeared  to  Donald 
that  mischievous  amusement  struggled  with  apprecia- 
tion in  her  look. 

"Something  seems  to  be  amusing  you,  little  lady. 
Let  me  into  the  secret,"  said  Donald. 


50  "SMILES" 


Her  silvery  laughter  broke  from  her  lips,  as  she 
answered,  "I'm  shor'  obleeged  fer  the  compliment 
yo'  paid  thet  basket.  I  made  hit  myself." 

"You  did?  Why,  it's  wonderful,  but  it  looks  as 
though  I'd  been  carrying  coals  to  Newcastle.  New- 
castle is  the  name  of  a  town  in  England  where  a  great 
deal  of  coal  comes  from,"  he  hastened  to  add,  in 
explanation. 

"Like  kerryin'  water  ter  the  river.  I  makes  them 
leetle  baskets  odd  times,  an'  sells  'em  ter  the  store- 
keeper in  Fayville,  but  I  never  hev  none  fer  myself, 
somehow,  an'  I  haint  never  a-goin'  ter  part  with  this 
hyar  one,  leastwise  ef  I  kin  keep  hit." 

"Of  course  you  may.  It's  my  present  to  you  just 
the  same;  but  don't  be  afraid  that  it  is  meant  to 
take  the  place  of  the  other  things  I  have  promised 
you." 

While  he  had  been  talking  to  the  child,  Big  Jerry 
had  picked  up  Donald's  rifle,  and  now  stood  caressingly 
running  his  hand  down  the  blue-black  barrel,  and 
over  the  polished  black  walnut  stock. 

Its  owner  watched  him  with  inward  amusement, 
yet  fully  understanding  the  woodman's  love  for  a 
perfect  weapon.  As  an  ordinary  man  would  lift 
a  child's  airgun,  the  giant  tossed  the  rifle  to  a  firing 
position,  snuggled  the  butt  against  his  shoulder,  and 
leaned  his  gray-bearded  cheek  on  it  affectionately. 
Finally  he  lowered  it  regretfully  to  the  ground,  and 
remarked,  with  the  suggestion  of  a  sigh,  "This  hyar 
shor'  air  a  mighty  purty  weepon,  doctor.  I  reckon 


GIVING  AND   RECEIVING         51 

she'll  drap  a  bullet  purty  nigh  whar  hit's  aimed  ter 

go." 

"Try  it,"  encouraged  Don,  catching  a  look  of 
almost  boyish  delight  cross  the  old  man's  face. 

"Air  she  loaded?  I  haint  right  familiar  with 
these  hyar  repeatin'  guns,  with  thar  leevers  an* 
sich." 

The  other  threw  a  cartridge  into  the  breech,  and 
handed  the  weapon  over,  with  the  remark,  "She 
shoots  a  trifle  high,  compared  with  the  average  rifle, 
I've  found  —  perhaps  an  inch  at  a  hundred  yard 
range." 

"Thank  ye,  sir,"  replied  Jerry,  and  added  simply, 
"I  reckon  I'll  jest  chip  the  top  off'n  thet  big  rock 
erf  ore  the  oak  tree,  yonder."  With  the  last  word 
came  the  gun's  flash,  and  to  Donald's  amazement  he 
saw  a  tiny  cloud  of  white  dust  rise  from  the  peak  of 
the  boulder. 

Rose  was  already  running  lightly  towards  the 
target  accompanied  by  the  excited  Mike,  and  her 
twinkling  legs  held  such  fleetness  that  the  trained 
athlete  barely  caught  up  with  her  as  she  finished  the 
dash,  and  triumphantly  laid  her  ringer  on  a  leaden 
mark  across  the  stone. 

"Good  Lord,"  gasped  Donald,  as  Big  Jerry  ap- 
proached more  sedately,  "I  thought  that  I  could 
shoot  some,  but  that  .  .  .  that  beats  anything  I  ever 
saw  in  the  West,  or  on  the  stage.  And  with  an 
unfamiliar  gun,  too." 

"She  shoots  erbout  ther  same  ter  the  left,  too," 


52  "SMILES" 

commented  the  marksman  judiciously.  "But  et 
thet  she  air  a  moghty  fine  rifle-gun,  an'  I  shor'  would 
be  pleased  ter  own  her,  only  I  reckon  yo'  haint  anxious 
ter  sell." 

"I'd  as  soon  think  of  selling  Mike,  or  any  other 
of  my  good  friends,"  promptly  responded  Donald, 
whereat  a  quick  shadow  of  disappointment  crossed 
the  old  man's  countenance. 

"I  erpreciates  the  feelin'  thet  ye  hev  fer  hit," 
he  said  as  he  handed  it  back.  "Er  gun  air  mighty 
nigh  like  blood  kin  ter  a  hunter." 

"But  we  sometimes  part  even  with  certain  of  our 
kindred  when  the  right  man  comes  along  whom  we 
can  trust  to  love,  honor  and  cherish  them,"  laughed 
the  younger  man.  "And,  since  I  feel  that  I  would 
be  insulting  that  gun  to  fire  it  again  after  the  way 
you  fired  it,  I'm  going  to  honor  it  by  giving  it  to 
you." 

"Why  .  .  .  why,  in  course  I'm  mightily  obleeged 
ter  ye,  doctor ;  but  I  jest  couldn't  think  of  acceptin' 
hit  from  ye,"  stammered  Big  Jerry,  struggling 
between  the  dictates  of  honor  and  insatiate  desire. 

"Don't  say  another  word,  my  good  friend;  she's 
yours  and  I  have  several  others  at  home.  Only 
please  don't  use  it  in  any  shooting  feuds  —  if  there 
are  such  things  still  in  existence  nowadays.  Since 
my  profession  is  to  save  human  lives,  I  mustn't  have 
a  part  in  the  taking  of  them  even  by  proxy,  you 
know."  Don's  eyes  were  laughing. 

"Yo'  hev  no  cause  fer  worriment  erlong  thet  line," 


GIVING  AND  RECEIVING        53 

earnestly  answered  Jerry,  as  he  patted  the  rifle, 
cradled  in  the  crook  of  his  arm  like  a  child.  "My 
fightin'  day  air  over,  praise  ter  Gawd.  Thar  war 
a  time  when  I  war  sorter  proud  of  ther  notch  thet's 
cut  in  the  stock  er  my  fust  gun ;  but  now  .  .  .  wall, 
I'd  give  a  good  deal  ef  'twarn't  thar.  I  figgers, 
nowerdays,  thet  hit  haint  the  Lord's  purpose  thet 
humans  should  spill  each  other's  blood,  leastwise 
onless  thar's  somethin'  bigger  et  stake  then  spite  er 
revengement." 

"Tell  him  erbout  the  shootin'  matches  at  the 
County  Fairs  whar  yo'  used  allus  ter  bear  erway  the 
prize,  grandpap,"  interposed  Smiles  hurriedly,  with 
the  obvious  design  of  changing  the  current  of  the 
old  man's  thoughts. 

The  latter  seated  himself  on  the  rock,  his  face 
lighting  with  reminiscence,  as  he  complied,  with  the 
words,  "Wall,  ef  I  does  say  hit,  thar  warn't  many  in 
Kentuck  er  West  Virginny  could  handle  a  shootin' 
iron  with  Big  Jerry  in  them  days,  an',  come  County 
Fair  time,  I  mostwise  allus  kerried  off  the  money 
prize  an'  the  wreath  give  by  ther  queen.  'Twarn't 
fancy  shootin',  like  they  hes  on  the  stage  yo'  war  er- 
speakin  of,  p'raps,  but  hit  took  a  stiddy  hand  an'  a 
clar  eye  ter  do  the  trick.  Gener'lly  the  spo't  ended 
with  the  pick  er  the  rifle  shooters  a-trying  ter  cut 
down  ten  weighted  strings  et  a  hundred  paces,  an* 
more  times  then  once  I  done  hit  in  as  many  shots." 

Then,  as  though  somewhat  ashamed  at  the  boastful- 
ness  in  his  words,  he  added  hastily,  "But  I  take  no 


54  "SMILES" 


credit  fer  thet  Gawd  give  me  the  skill  ter  do  hit, 
an'  I  might  hev  used  hit  ter  better  purpose  then 
ofttimes  I  did,  fer  I  was  overproud  er  my  skill. 

"I  shor'  thanks  ye  fer  this  hyar  rifle-gun,  an',  come 
Thanksgiving  time,  I  hopes  ter  send  ye  a  wild  turkey 
bird  killed  by  hit." 

"If  you  do  that  I  shall  be  more  than  repaid," 
responded  Donald.  "Well,  good  friends  of  mine,  I 
must  be  on  my  way ;  but  don't  think  that  you  have 
seen  the  last  of  me.  I've  found  the  ideal  spot  in 
which  to  spend  a  vacation,  and  next  summer  I'll 
be  back  here  again,  D.  V." 

"What's  'D.  V.'?"  asked  the  girl,  curiously. 

"It  stands  for  Deo  Volente  —  Latin  words  which 
mean,  'God  willing.'" 

"I  hopes  thet  yo'  does  come  back,  an'  we-all  will 
be  here  ter  welcome  ye,  D.  V."  said  Rose;  then 
added,  shyly,  "I  hev  a  gift  fer  yo'  ter  take  back 
home  ter  leetle  Muriel,  ef  yo're  willin'.  Hit's  in  the 
cabin,  an',  ef  yo'll  wait,  I'll  run  an'  git  hit  fer  ye." 

"Of  course  I'll  be  glad  to  take  it  to  her,  my  child, 
and  I  know  that  she'll  be  delighted  both  with  it  and 
the  stories  I  shall  tell  her  about  Smiles.  But  wait, 
I  will  go  with  you,  for  there  is  one  thing  more  I  want 
to  do  before  I  leave,  if  you  can  find  me  a  piece  of 
string." 

With  a  question  in  her  wide-eyed  glance,  Rose 
led  him  back  to  the  little  mountain  homestead  and, 
as  soon  as  they  were  inside,  hurried  to  produce 
the  desired  article. 


GIVING  AND   RECEIVING         55 

"Now  then,  hold  up  your  arms,"  commanded 
Donald  lightly. 

Rose  obeyed,  and,  slipping  the  string  about  her 
yielding  waist,  he  drew  it  taut  and  tied  a  knot  to 
mark  the  resultant  measurement.  Following  the 
same  procedure,  he  took  the  circumference  of  her 
chest,  the  length  of  her  arm,  and  from  her  neck 
to  a  few  inches  above  her  slender  ankle.  Suddenly 
her  puzzled  expression  gave  place  to  one  of  under- 
standing, and  the  starry  smile  broke  over  her  coun- 
tenance. 

"You've  guessed,"  cried  Donald  with  feigned 
disappointment. 

"Ef  hit's  a  secret,  I  won't  even  whisper  hit  ter 
no  one,"  the  child  responded  gayly. 

"Good.    It  is  a  secret,  but  not  a  dark  one." 

"I  reckon  thet  hit's  all  white,"  she  gurgled.  "An' 
now  I  hev  a  secret  fer  yo'  ter  keep  —  leastwise  till  ye 
gits  ter  the  city.  Yo'  promise,  too  ?" 

"I  solemnly  swear,"  said  Don,  and,  breaking  away, 
the  girl  ran  into  her  own  room  and  bashfully  brought 
out  a  paper  bundle  through  the  top  folds  of  which 
protruded  the  twisted  reed  handle  of  a  basket, 
somewhat  similar  to  the  one  of  her  own  manufacture 
which  he  had  given  her.  "This  hyar  basket's  fer 
the  little  girl;  but,  inside  hit's  something  fer  yo' 
ter  remember  lee  tie  Rose  by.  Also  thar's  a  writin', 
askin'  ye  ter  do  something  fer  me  an*  ef  yo'  kin  do 
hit  I  will  shor'  be  mightily  obleeged  ter  ye." 

"I  can't  guess  what  on  earth  it  is,  but  you  may 


56  "SMILES" 

be  sure  that  I  will  do  it  if  it  can  be  done,"  he  answered 
earnestly.  "Good-by,  Smiles.  Even  without  your 
gift  as  a  reminder  I  shouldn't  have  forgotten  you, 
and  I  shall  not  think  of  the  Cumberlands  without 
seeing  your  dear  little  face." 

Donald  took  both  her  small  hands  in  his  big  ones, 
and,  yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse,  bent  down  and 
drew  her  towards  him.  For  just  an  instant  she 
held  back  slightly,  and  the  color  swiftly  mantled 
her  cheeks.  Then,  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  releas- 
ing her,  a  little  ashamed  of  his  intention,  she  freed 
her  hands  and,  flinging  them  about  his  neck,  kissed 
him  warmly  again. 

With  the  fresh,  childlike  pressure  of  her  young  lips 
cm  his,  Donald  went  hurriedly  out,  and,  after  a 
last  hearty  handclasp  from  Big  Jerry,  turned  towards 
the  woods,  an  unaccustomed  song  in  his  heart. 


CHAPTER   VI 

AN  UNACCEPTED  CHALLENGE 

"I  WANTS  ter  hev  speech  with  ye,  stranger." 

The  words,  spoken  in  a  harsh  voice,  fell  gratingly 
on  Donald's  ears,  and  brought  to  an  abrupt  end  the 
happy  thoughts  with  which  his  mind  was  occupied. 
He  stopped,  forcing  the  growling  Mike  behind  him, 
as  Judd  stepped  out  from  the  bushes,  squarely  across 
his  path. 

"I  would  be  glad  to  stop  and  talk  with  you,  Judd, 
but  I'm  due  in  Fayville  before  noon,  and  have  already 
stayed  too  long  at  Big  Jerry's." 

"Yo'  hev,"  was  the  prompt  and  surly  reply. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that?"  snapped 
Donald,  with  rising  ire. 

"What  I  says,  goes,"  was  the  reply.  "This  hyar 
place  air  a  powerful  good  one  fer  yo'  ter  keep  erway 
from,  stranger." 

"Indeed?    Well,  you  don't  own  it." 

The  younger  man's  color  heightened,  and  his  lean 
}aws  clamped  together. 

"I  warns  ye  fair,"  he  said,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  And  I  don't  accept  such  a  warning  from  any  one," 
shot  back  Donald,  momentarily  growing  more  angry. 
"It's  no  business  of  yours,  whether  I  go  or  stay." 

57 


58  "SMILES" 

"I  makes  hit  my  business,"  replied  the  other  sul- 
lenly. "Big  Jerry  air  growin'  old  an'  foolish,  I 
reckon;  but  I  seen  what  I  seen,  an'  thar  haint  no 
city  man  ergoin'  ter  come  up  hyar  an'  make  trouble 
fer  a  gal  uv  our'n." 

"Judd,  it's  you  who  are  the  fool.  I  don't  admit 
your  right  to  discuss  this,  or  any  matter,  with  me, 
but  Rose  is  nothing  to  me  but  a  very  good  friend. 
Besides,  she's  only  a  child." 

"She's  nigh  onter  old  ernough  ter  wed,"  was  the 
uncompromising  answer.  "An'  ef  she  haint  no  thin' 
ter  ye,  the  more  shame  on  ye  fer  tryin'  ter  make  her 
love  ye,  an'  mayhaps  break  her  heart." 

"But  I  haven't  tried  to  make  her  love  me,"  broke 
in  Donald  impatiently. 

"Then  fer  what  did  yo'  put  yer  arms  erbout  her 
an'  kiss  her,  like  I  seen  ye  through  the  winder  awhile 
back,  I  wants  ter  know?"  demanded  the  other,  as 
he  hastily  frustrated  Donald's  attempt  to  step  by 
him. 

The  man  felt  his  own  face  flush  hotly,  and  was  angry 
over  this  visible  display  of  feeling. 

"I  tell  you  she's  only  a  child.  I  kissed  her  as  I 
would  any  little  girl  of  whom  I  was  fond." 

"Yo'  love  her,  an'  yo'  haint  the  man  ter  say  hit." 

"Very  well,  then.  Supposing  I  admit  that  I  love 
her,  what  is  it  to  you?"  replied  Donald,  with  a  flash 
of  heat. 

"I  loves  her,  too.  I've  loved  her  since  she  come 
ter  these  hyar  mountains,  a  leetle  baby ;  an'  I  don't 


AN  UNACCEPTED  CHALLENGE  59 

calkerlate  ter  hev  yo',  er  any  city  man,  make  a  play- 
thing uv  her.  Hit's  man  ter  man,  now.  Air  yo',  er 
haint  yo',  agoin'  ter  leave  hyar,  an'  keep  erway  ?" 

"As  I  told  you  before,  it's  none  of  your  business," 
replied  Don  shortly. 

"An'  es  I  told  ye  before,  hit  air.  Now  I  tells  ye 
thet  yo'  haint  a-comin'  back." 

"That  .  .  .  remains  to  be  seen,"  Donald  answered 
wrathfully  as  he  stepped  past  Judd,  this  time  un- 
impeded. 

He  had  not  gone  more  than  a  score  of  swinging 
strides,  keeping  the  bristling  dog  close  beside  him, 
when  he  heard  the  staccato  crack  of  a  rifle,  and 
simultaneously  the  high-pitched  whine  of  a  bullet 
past  his  head. 

Once  before,  in  the  Maine  woods,  he  had  been  an 
unwilling  target,  on  that  occasion  for  an  overanxious 
deer  hunter.  Then  he  had  sprung  up,  waving  his 
arms  and  shouting  a  warning,  but  now  instinct  told 
him  that  the  opposite  procedure  was  the  proper  one, 
and  he  threw  himself  precipitately  into  the  envelop- 
ing rhododendrons.  As  he  did  so,  from  the  path 
above  him  came  a  derisive  laugh  which  set  his  blood 
boiling. 

It  awakened  in  Donald  all  the  blind,  fighting 
spirit  which,  in  gridiron  days,  had  driven  him  with 
clinched  teeth  into  the  thick  of  the  battering  melee. 
He  sprang  into  a  crouching  posture,  face  turned 
toward  the  taunting  sound,  every  muscle  taut,  every 
nerve  tingling,  and  with  but  one  thought  surging 


60  "SMILES" 

through  his  brain  —  the  desire  to  charge  back  and 
attack  Judd,  barehanded. 

Slowly  the  red  demons  of  primitive  passion  van- 
ished before  the  returning  light  of  wisdom,  born  of 
maturity  and  the  restraining  power  of  civilization. 
He  quickly  realized  that  he  had  no  right  to  make 
a  fool  of  himself  for  the  sake  of  such  a  cause,  and  in 
such  a  childish  manner.  His  duty  was  paramount  to 
the  satisfaction  of  an  atavistic  impulse,  and,  placing 
a  strong  mental  grasp  upon  his  nerves,  which  cried 
for  drastic  action,  Donald  turned  downward  into 
the  footpath  again,  and  broke  into  a  run. 

Haste  was  doubly  essential,  for  little  time  remained 
before  the  hour  for  the  departure  of  his  train,  and, 
even  in  Virginia,  it  might  leave  according  to  schedule. 
As  he  crashed  impetuously  through  a  bush  whose 
branches  blocked  the  path,  he  heard  again  the  laughter 
from  above  him  and  caught  a  new  note  therein  — 
that  of  exultation. 

Donald  stifled  an  oath,  while  an  additional  reason 
for  returning  to  the  mountain  burned  its  way  into 
his  heart. 


On  the  path  above,  Judd  deliberately  blew  the 
fouling  smoke  from  his  rifle  barrel,  turned  about, 
and,  with  a  satisfied  smile  mingling  with  the  expres- 
sion of  hate  on  his  lips,  climbed  back  towards  Jerry's 
cabin. 

In  its  doorway  stood  Rose.    The  happy  flush  still 


AN  UNACCEPTED  CHALLENGE  61 

lingered  delicately  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  limpid 
eyes  were  full  of  a  soft,  dreamy  light. 

"What  war  yo'  ershootin'  at,  Judd?"  she  cried, 
as  the  man  came  into  view,  carelessly  swinging  his 
long  weapon. 

"Et  a  pole-cat/'  was  his  brief  reply,  as  he  re- 
moved his  broad  straw  hat  and  sank  with  the  un- 
conscious grace  of  a  wild  animal  onto  the  stoop  at 
her  feet. 

Neither  broke  the  silence  for  several  minutes, 
but  the  man  scarcely  took  his  burning  gaze  from  the 
child's  lovely  face.  At  length  she  sighed  ever  so 
gently,  and,  seating  herself  beside  him,  dropped  her 
firm  chin  into  her  cupped  hands. 

"Smiles,"  began  Judd,  with  all  the  harshness 
gone  from  his  voice,  "I  don't  enjoy  fer  ter  hear  yo' 
sigh  thet  erway,  er  ter  see  ther  fur-off  look  in  yo'r 
purty  eyes,  'cause  I  fears  thet  hit  means  thar's 
some  one  else  then  me  in  yo'r  heart." 

Instantly  she  sat  up  straight,  and  turned  her  eyes, 
full  of  surprise,  upon  him.  "Why,  Juddy ! "  she  said. 

"Ef  hit's  thet  doctor  man,  I  likes  hit  least  uv  all, 
Smiles,"  the  man  continued,  speaking  bitterly. 
"He  haint  come  fur  no  good,  leetle  gal,  an'  I  don't 
want  fer  yo'  ter  think  on  him." 

"I  reckon  I  thinks  on  whom  I  likes,"  she  responded 
briefly. 

"Don't  go  fer  ter  git  angry  with  me,  Rose  gal. 
Hit  aint  thet  I  wants  ter  be  selfish  er  onreasonable, 
but  ..."  Judd  stopped.  Words  of  passionate  love 


m  "SMILES" 

trembled  on  his  lips,  but  were  held  there  by  a  barrier 
of  inherited  reticence  in  matters  of  the  heart.  Iron 
reserve  and  laconic  speech  were  essentially  typical 
of  his  breed;  but,  at  length,  the  eager  utterances 
strained  against  the  fetter  of  his  will,  and  broke 
them. 

"I  kaint  speak  as  I  desires  to,  Smiles.  I  fears  I 
kaint  make  ye  understand  what's  in  my  heart; 
but  I've  keered  mightily  fer  ye,  dear,  ever  since  yor 
war  a  smilin'  leetle  baby  gal,  an'  now  .  .  .  now  yo'r 
most  a  woman  grown,  an'  I  love  ye,  want  ye  more 
come  each  new  day  an'  each  new  night.  Thar  haint 
one  ef  them  passes  but  thet  I  make  excuse  fer  ter 
see  ye,  an'  jest  ther  sight  o'  yo'r  sweet  face  somehow 
kindles  a  light  inside  me  that  burns,  'thout  scarcely 
dimmin',  till  I  sees  ye  agin.  Thet's  ther  reason  I 
said  what  I  done,  a  moment  back. 

"I  jest  kaint  bear  fer  ter  think  uv  yo'  lovin'  some 
one  else  then  me.  I  ...  I  keers  so  much  thet  I 
believes  I'd  rather  see  ye  dead  then  thet,  Rose  gal." 

Fairly  trembling  with  the  sweep  of  his  unloosed 
emotion,  the  reserved,  strong-willed  man  paused,  and, 
as  the  girl  stood  up  hastily,  she  was  trembling,  too. 

"Why,  Juddy,"  she  cried  softly,  distress  in  her 
voice,  "I  didn't  rightly  understand  thet  yo'  felt 
thet  erway.  I  likes  ye,  in  course,  but  I'm  only  a 
leetle  gal,  an'  I  haint  keerin'  fer  any  one  .  .  .  thet 
erway.  I  ...  I  don't  enjoy  fer  ter  hyar  yo'  say 
sech  words  ter  me  now,  Juddy." 

"I  reckon  yo'r  right,  an'  I  shouldn't  hev  told  ye 


AN  UNACCEPTED   CHALLENGE     63 

yet,  Rose,"  answered  the  man,  almost  humbly. 
"I  kin  bide  my  time,  but  I  wants  ye  ter  know  thet  I 
feels  es  I  does.  I'm  a-goin'  ter  keep  right  on  lovin' 
ye  more  an'  more,  and,  when  yo'r  older,  I  plans  ter 
ask  ye  ter  marry  with  me." 

"I  likes  ye  ...  indeed  I  likes  ye,  Judd,  but 
...  oh,  please  don't  ever  go  fer  ter  do  that.  I  kaint 
never  marry  ye,  Judd." 

The  man  stiffened,  and  his  face  grew  black  again. 
"I  believes  thet  yo'  air  in  love  with  thet  doctor  man, 
atter  all,"  he  shot  out. 

"I  haint  neither,"  cried  the  girl,  angrily  stamping 
her  bare  foot,  "I  does  love  him,  but  I  haint  in  love 
with  nobody,  'ceptin'  grandpap." 

"Yo'  submitted  ter  his  takin'  ye  in  his  arms  an* 
kissin'  ye,"  burst  out  the  mountaineer. 

"Judd  Amos,  yo'r  a  mean,  spyin'  sneak,  an'  I 
hates  ye ! "  stormed  Rose,  while  her  eyes  filled  with 
angry  tears. 

"I  didn't  go  fer  ter  spy  on  ye,  Smiles,"  he  protested, 
"I  seen  ye  by  chance.  But,  whether  yo'  love  him 
er  not,  yo'  might  jest  as  well  fergit  him.  He  keered 
fer  ye  jest  because  yo'  air  er  purty  mountain  flower, 
an'  he  haint  never  ercomin'  back  hyar  ergin." 

"He  air,  too,"  contradicted  the  girl  rebelliously. 
"He  air  ercomin'  back  an'  he's  promised  ter  help  me 
git  edercation." 

Judd  laughed  shortly. 

"I  warned  him  fair  ter  keep  erway,  an'  p'inted 
my  warnin'  with  a  rifle  ball." 


64  "SMILES" 

Rose's  eyes  widened  in  horror. 

"Yo'  .  .  .  yo'  means  yo'  shot  him,  Judd?"  she 
whispered,  with  both  hands  pressed  to  her  breast. 

"Shot  him?  No.  I  didn't  aim  fer  ter  hurt  him, 
an'  'twarn't  in  nowise  necessary.  I  jest  put  a  bullet 
past  his  head  an'  he  run  like  a  skeered  rabbit." 

"Taint  so.  He  never  run  from  no  one,"  she  cried 
staunchly. 

"Wall,  hit  shor'  appeared  like  hit  ter  me,"  was  the 
gloating  answer. 

Feminine  instinct  gave  Rose  an  intuitive  insight 
into  the  real  reasons  which  underlay  Donald's  appar- 
ent flight ;  but  pride  sealed  her  lips,  just  as  she  was 
on  the  point  of  explaining  triumphantly  that  the 
doctor  had  been  called  back  home  that  day,  and  that 
it  was  the  following  summer  when  he  would  return. 

"Juddy,"  she  said  gently,  after  a  moment,  "yo' 
bed  no  reason  fer  doin'  what  yo'  done.  Hit  war 
mighty  wrong,  but  I  fergives  ye.  I  wants  ter  still 
be  friends  with  ye.  I  wants  ye  ter  help  me,  Juddy." 

The  last  words  were  breathed  softly,  and  the 
naive  appeal  in  her  voice  brought  the  hostile  man 
quickly  back  to  submissive  and  worshipful  fealty. 

"Yo'  know  thet  I'd  do  enything  in  the  world  fer 
ye,  Smiles,"  he  answered  simply. 

"I  believes  thet  yo'  think  yo'  would,  Judd,  but 
I  wonders  ef,  deep  in  yo'r  heart,  yo'  really  keers 
ernough  fer  me  ter  ...  I  kaint  scarcely  explain 
what  I  means.  I  reckon  I  air  powerful  ignerrant  in 
speecherfyin'." 


AN  UNACCEPTED   CHALLENGE     65 

"I  don't  rightly  know  what  yo'  means,  Smiles, 
but  I  give  ye  my  promise  ter  do  whatsoever  yo' 
wants,  ef  hit  takes  my  life,"  he  declared  earnestly, 
his  former  selfish  desire  to  bend  her  will  into  compli- 
ance with  his  own  for  the  moment  yielding  to  his 
blind  eagerness  to  prove  his  love. 

Youthful  and  unsophisticated  in  worldly  wiles 
as  she  was,  the  eternal  feminine  in  Rose  sensed  her 
victory  and  power,  and,  still  maintaining  her  half 
commanding,  half  tenderly  appealing  tone,  she 
outlined  her  plan,  for  the  accomplishment  of  which 
his  aid  was  all  essential. 

Judd  protested,  pleaded  and  stormed  —  all  to  no 
avail.  He  felt  himself  like  a  man  caught  in  a  snare 
of  his  own  weaving  —  a  snare  strengthened  by  fair, 
yet  unbreakable,  silken  threads  added  by  the  child. 

Finally,  miserable  at  heart,  he  yielded,  and  departed 
with  his  hand  tingling  from  the  impulsive  affection- 
ate pressure  of  Smiles'  fingers  upon  it.  But,  as  the 
conscious  thrill  which  it  caused  in  his  being  lessened, 
his  thoughts  became  immersed  in  gloom,  through 
which  no  encouraging  light  made  its  way.  He 
realized  that  he  had  lost  the  first  battle  for  her  heart, 
and  the  loss  brought  closer  the  dark  spectre  of  ulti- 
mate defeat. 


CHAPTER  VII 

"SMILES'"  GIFT:   AND  THE  "WRITING" 

"Now,  my  boy,  let  us  hear  an  account  of  your 
trip.  Did  you  enjoy  it,  and  find  anything  of  especial 
interest  in  the  mountains  of  the  feud  country?" 

The  doctor's  father  lighted  his  after-dinner  cigar, 
and  leaned  back  with  the  indolent  satisfaction  which 
a  man  ripe  in  useful  years  may  feel  when  surrounded 
by  his  family.  Since  the  death  of  his  wife,  he  and 
his  children  had  been  more  inseparably  attached 
one  to  another  than  ever,  and  each  drew  a  full  measure 
of  happiness  from  these  all-too-infrequent  reunions, 
when  Donald  could  be  with  them.  Even  little 
Muriel  was  not  left  out  of  the  group,  for  she  had 
been  granted  the  exceptional  privilege  of  sitting 
up  an  extra  hour,  and  listening  to  the  wonderful 
hunting  tales  told  by  her  beloved  Uncle  Don,  upon 
whose  lap  she  was  now  contentedly  curled.  Her 
mother  and  father  sat  near  by. 

"Yes,  to  both  questions,"  responded  Donald. 

"Did  you  shoot  any  bears?"  queried  his  little 
niece,  expectantly. 

"No  bears  this  trip,  although  I  almost  scalded 
to  death  a  bare-legged  little  girl,"  was  the  reply. 
And  with  Rose  thus  made  the  central  figure  of  his 

$6 


"SMILES'"   GIFT  67 

recital  at  the  very  outset,  Donald  proceeded  to  tell 
of  his  experiences  and  new  friendships;  but  con- 
sciously refrained  from  mentioning  the  unpleasant 
incident  with  which  his  trip  ended,  and  Smiles' 
parting  embrace. 

His  faithful  reproduction  of  the  soft  mountain 
dialect  brought  frequent  smiles  from  his  listeners, 
and  filled  the  child  with  delighted  amusement. 

"I  just  love  Smiles,"  she  cried,  as  he  finished  his 
story. 

"Indeed,  so  does  every  one  who  knows  her.  You 
do,  don't  you,  Mike  ? "  added  Donald,  and  the  dog 
beat  a  tattoo  on  the  rug  with  his  stumpy  tail. 

"Witchery,"  laughed  his  father.  "Even  your 
clumsy  description  has  strangely  stirred  my  youthful 
blood;  and  'I  longs  fer  ter  see  this  hyar  wonderful 
child  dryad  of  ther  primeval  forest.'  If  you  ever 
go  back  there,  you  had  better  wear  magic  armor  as 
protection  against  that  illusive  smile  which  seems  to 
have  cast  a  spell  of  enchantment  over  your  civilized 
senses." 

"Pshaw,  you  needn't  be  concerned  about  my  feel- 
ings for  her.  She's  no  siren,  but  a  very  real  little 
person.  I'll  admit  that  she's  amazingly  attractive; 
but  she's  merely  a  child." 

"Children  grow  up,"  teased  his  sister. 

"I'm  aware  of  that  natural  phenomenon,  "answered 
Donald,  somewhat  curtly.  "But  .  .  .  Great  Scott, 
can't  I  describe  a  fifteen —  no,  sixteen-year-old  little 
savage,  without  all  you  people  imagining  that  I'm 


68  "SMILES" 

going  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  fall  in  love  with 
her?" 

"Sometimes  it  isn't  what  one  says,  but  the  way  he 
says  it,  that  incriminates,"  put  in  his  brother-in-law, 
adding  his  voice  to  the  general  baiting  which  had 
apparently  disclosed  a  tender  spot. 

"Hang  it  all,  I  believe  that  I'll  go  back  and 
ask  Smiles  to  marry  me,  if  only  to  put  an  end 
to  your  teasing,"  cried  Don  with  a  laugh  not 
entirely  natural.  "At  least  I  might  perhaps  suc- 
ceed in  frustrating  your  obvious  designs,  Ethel.  Oh, 
I'm  not  blind !" 

"I've  almost  concluded  that  you  are  —  or  hopeless," 
answered  his  sister.  "However,  I'm  perfectly  will- 
ing to  admit  that  I  would  like  to  see  you  married 
to  Marion  Treville  —  she's  my  closest  friend,  and 
would  certainly  make  you  a  perfect  wife." 

"Too  perfect,  by  far.  Can  you  imagine  me  hitched 
with  that  proud  and  classic  beauty?  I  should  go 
mad." 

"But  I  want  my  pretty  basket  that  little  Smiles 
made  for  me,"  broke  in  Muriel,  to  whom  the  present 
remarks  held  no  interest,  and  who  emphasized  her 
demand  by  seizing  his  cheeks. 

"To  be  sure  you  do,  and  I  want  to  see  my  present, 
too.  I'll  bring  them  right  down." 

Not  at  all  ill  pleased  at  this  opportunity  to  escape 
from  his  family's  jesting,  which,  for  some  indefinable 
reason,  aroused  his  belligerency,  Donald  jumped 
up  hastily  and  departed  for  the  sanctuary  of  his 


"SMILES"    GIFT  69 

bedroom,  to  get  the  bulky  bundle  with  its  mysterious 
enclosure.  Minutes  slipped  by,  and  he  failed  to 
return  to  the  group  downstairs. 

At  last  his  absorption  was  broken  into  by  the 
arrival  of  Muriel,  whose  entrance  into  the  room,  with 
the  traces  of  tears  on  her  cheeks,  brought  him  back 
to  the  present  with  a  remorseful  start. 

"You  didn't  come  down,  an'  you  didn't  come  down, 
Uncle  Don,  an'  now  mother  says  it's  bedtime,  an'  I 
want  Smiles'  basket  to  take  with  me." 

"Why,  I'm  terribly  sorry  that  I've  been  so  long, 
sweetheart-mine.  I  stopped  to  read  the  letter  she 
wrote  to  me,  and,  I'm  ashamed  to  say,  forgot  that 
you  were  waiting  for  me.  But  see,  here's  your 
present.  Little  Rose  made  it  all  herself  for  you. 
Isn't  it  pretty?" 

With  a  cry  of  delight  the  child  gathered  the  simple 
basket  into  her  chubby  arms  and  bent  her  head 
over  it.  "Oh,  don't  it  smell  sweet,  Uncle  Don. 
Does  Smiles  smell  like  that?" 

"Perhaps  not  exactly,"  he  replied,  chuckling. 

"Now  please  show  me  what  she  sent  to  you. 
Was  it  a  basket,  too?" 

"No,  not  a  basket.  It's  a  very  great  secret ;  but, 
if  you'll  promise  not  to  tell  a  soul,  no  matter  how  they 
tease,  I'll  show  it  to  you." 

"Cross  my  heart,  an'  hope  to  die,"  said  the  child 
earnestly,  making  across  her  pinafore  the  mystic 
sign,  so  potent  to  the  childish  mind. 

Donald  opened  a  drawer   in    the   chiffonier  and 


70  "SMILES" 

took  out  a  small  and  obviously  cheap  glazed  blue- 
and-white  vase.  The  child  took  it  wonderingly  and, 
removing  the  cover,  sniffed  audibly  and  deeply. 

"My.  This  smells  like  Rose,"  she  said  with 
conviction. 

"You're  right,  it  does,  indeed,  because  it  is  roses  — 
dried  wild  rose  petals  which  she  gathered  and  pre- 
served herself.  I  saw  it  in  her  little  cabin,  and  know 
that  it  was  her  most  precious  possession,  yet  she 
gave  it  to  'Uncle  Don'  as  a  keepsake,  so  that  he 
might  remember  her  whenever  he  smells  of  it." 

"Wasn't  she  just  too  sweet  to  do  that.  My, 
how  I  would  like  to  see  her,  Uncle  Don." 

"We'll,  perhaps  you  may,  some  day." 

The  sentence  echoed  out  of  the  past,  carrying 
his  recollection  back  to  the  night  when  he  had  heed- 
lessly spoken  the  identical  words  to  Smiles,  and 
there  entered  his  mind  the  sudden  realization  of 
what  amazing  potentialities  for  good  or  evil  often 
lie  hidden  in  the  simplest  utterances. 

The  sound  of  his  sister's  light  tread  in  the  hall- 
way caused  Donald  to  return  his  homely  gift  to  its 
hiding  place  hurriedly,  and  little  Muriel,  with  ro- 
guishly twinkling  eyes,  imitated  his  action  as  he  laid 
his  finger  on  his  lips  as  a  seal  of  secrecy. 

"Well,  you  two  kids,"  laughed  Ethel,  as  she  caught 
sight  of  the  picture  framed  by  the  doorway. 

"I'm  glad  that  I  haven't  wholly  forgotten  how 
to  be  one,"  answered  her  brother,  as  he  kissed  first 
his  little  niece,  and  then  the  basket  which  she  held 


"SMILES"     GJLbT  71 

up  with  the  demand  that  it  be  paid  similar  homage, 
and  bade  them  good-night. 

Rejoining  the  diminished  group  in  the  living-room, 
Donald  was  preoccupiedly  silent,  until  his  father 
asked, 

"Well,  have  you  read  your  little  friend's  'writing'? 
I  confess  to  a  mild  curiosity  as  to  what  sort  of  a 
letter  a  girl  like  her  would  write,  and  what  sort  of 
a  request  she  would  be  likely  to  make  of  you." 

Don  drew  from  his  pocket  the  letter,  painfully 
scrawled  on  cheap,  and  not  overclean  paper,  and 
handed  it  over.  Adjusting  his  eye-glasses  the  older 
man  read  aloud  :  — 

"'Dear  Dr.  Mac, 

Truly  I  want  to  be  a  nurse  like  you  told  me  about 
some  day.' 

"Well,"  commented  the  reader,  "at  least  she  starts 
right  off  with  the  business  in  hand,  without  any 
palavering. 

" '  And  I  reckon  that  even  a  little  mountain  girl  like 
me  can  be  one  if  she  wishes  hard  enough  and  works  hard, 
too.' 

"Why,"  he  interpolated  again,  "there  doesn't  seem 
to  be  any  evidence  of  your  weirdly  wonderful  spelling 
and  grammar  here." 
"Go  on,"  answered  Donald,  smiling  slightly. 

"  '  I  reckon  it  will  take  me  a  long,  long  time  to  get  educa- 
tion and  earn  all  that  money,  but  I  can  do  it,  Dr.  Mac.  I  am 
sure  I  can  do  it.  I  told  my  grandfather  all  that  I  mean  to 


72  "SMILES" 

do,  and  he  won't  try  to  stop  me  none.  Of  course  he  does 
not  want  for  me  to  go  away  from  him,  but  I  explained  that 
I  }iad  to,  and  of  course  that  made  it  all  right. 

When  you  was  telling  us  what  those  nurses  done, 
something  seemed  like  it  went  jump  inside  my  heart, 
and  straightways  I  know  that  the  dear  Lord  meant  for 
me  to  do  it,  too.  I  read  a  story  once  about  a  girl  in  f ranee 
named  Jone  of  Ark  and  I  reckon  I  felt  like  she  done  when 
she  see  the  angel. 

I  know  I  can  do  it,  Dr.  Mac,  if  you  will  help  me  a 
little  bit  like  you  promised.  Most  of  all  I  figures  I  need 
a  heap  of  book  learning,  and  it  is  books  I  wants  for  you 
to  get  me.  You  know  the  books  I  need  to  have,  Dr. 
Mac.,  and  in  this  letter  I  am  going  to  put  $10. 

It  is  an  awful  lot  of  money ;  but  I  reckon  books  cost  a 
good  deal,  and  you  can  bring  me  the  change  next  summer, 
for  I  have  not  got  no  use  for  money  here.  Don't  be 
afeared.  It  is  my  own  money.  It  was  in  my  father's 
pocket  among  the  camp  things  granddaddy  found,  and 
there  was  some  more.  Grandfather,  he  kept  it  for  me 
until  I  was  a  big  girl  and  now  I  am  keeping  it  for  a  rainy 
day,  like  the  copy  book  says,  although  I  don't  think  money 
would  be  much  use  to  keep  off  the  rain. 

Their  is  a  preacher  man  who  lives  on  our  mountain 
winters,  when  he  can  not  travel  about  none,  and  I  know 
I  can  get  him  to  help  me  learn  if  I  help  his  wife  with  her 
work,  and  I  can  read  pretty  well  now  and  write  pretty 
well  when  I  have  a  spelling  book  to  study  the  words  out 
of,  although  I  have  to  go  sorter  slow,  for  they  do  not 
allus  spell  words  like  they  sound,  and  sometimes  I  can- 
not find  them  at  all.  I  guess  my  book  is  not  a  very  good 
one. 

I  reckon  it  will  take  me  a  long  while  to  earn  more  than 
$300 ;  but  I  am  going  to  work  awful  hard,  making  baskets 
and  other  things,  and  I  am  going  to  get  Judd  Amos, 


"SMILES'"   GIFT  73 

our  naybor,  to  sell  them  for  me  at  the  village  store,  for 
he  goes  down  their  trading  every  week,  and  he  will  do 
anything  I  ask  him,  like  I  told  you. 

This  is  a  pretty  long  letter  and  it  has  taken  me  all  the 
evening  to  right.  I  hope  that  you  can  read  it.  Well, 
I  guess  that  is  all  now  from  your  loveing  little  friend. 

I  most  forgot  to  say  please  give  my  love  to  Mike.' 

ROSE  WEBB. 

"Well,  I've  got  to  admit  that  I  have  seen  many  a 
letter,  written  by  a  grown-up,  that  fell  a  long  ways 
short  of  that  one  in  clarity  of  thought  and  in  accom- 
plishment of  a  definite  object,"  said  Mr.  MacDonald, 
as  he  handed  it  back.  "Do  you  suppose  that  her 
eagerness  to  become  a  nurse  is  just  a  passing  childish 
whim,  or  has  she  really  got  sand  enough  to  put  her 
almost  impossible  plan  through?" 

"  Clairvoyancy  was  not  included  either  in  the 
Harvard  or  Medical  School  curriculum,"  responded 
Donald,  with  a  shrug. 

"Meaning  that  the  things  of  the  future  are  in  the 
laps  of  the  gods.  Of  course,  but  I  was  merely  asking 
for  your  personal  opinion.  I'm  not  jesting  now; 
that  letter  really  aroused  my  interest  in  the  child." 

"Well,  then,  I  believe  that  Smiles  really  possesses 
the  strength  of  purpose  to  go  through  with  even  so 
difficult  a  task  as  she  has  set  for  herself.  Remember, 
she  comes  of  city  stock,  and  hasn't  the  blood  of  those 
unprogressive  mountaineers  in  her  veins." 

"And  you?  Are  you  going  to  help  her  as  she 
asks?  What  about  your  promise  to  Big  Jerry?" 


74  "SMILES" 

"I  lived  up  to  both  the  spirit  and  letter  of  that, 
when  I  tried  to  explain  to  the  child  the  almost  un- 
surmountable  difficulties  which  lay  between  her 
and  the  accomplishment  of  her  dream.  Besides, 
I  know  that  she  has  told  the  truth  in  her  letter,  and 
has  somehow  managed  actually  to  win  over  the 
old  man.  I  can't  help  feeling  mighty  sorry  for  him, 
if  the  foster  birdling  is  really  going  to  fly  away  from 
his  nest  after  he  has  reared  and  loved  her  so  tenderly, 
but,  after  all,  it  is  only  the  history  of  the  human 
race.  Still,  I  can't  blame  him  if  he  looks  on  me  as  a 
serpent  who  stole  into  his  simple  Eden,  carrying 
the  apple  of  discontent." 

"There  have  been,  of  course,  plenty  of  cases  simi- 
lar to  this,  where  the  adventurer's  spirit  was  really 
big  enough  and  the  vision  strong  enough  to  carry 
him  or  her  through  to  victory,"  mused  Donald's 
father.  "Such  a  one  was  the  immortal  Abe  Lincoln, 
who  came  from  just  such  surroundings.  But  the 
task  is  doubly  hard  for  a  young  girl,  and  the  experi- 
ment of  thus  breaking  away  from  the  ties  and  tradi- 
tions of  many  years,  and  seeking  a  place  in  a  wholly 
new,  wholly  dissimilar  life,  cannot  but  be  fraught 
with  dangers.  There,  in  that  simple  environment 
she  naturally  appealed  to  you  as  not  only  an  attrac- 
tive child,  but  as  a  somewhat  unusual  personality. 
Tell  me,  lad,  how  will,  or  would,  she  measure  up, 
if  transplanted  a  few  years  hence  into  city  life,  where 
the  standards  of  comparison  are  so  utterly  different; 
so  much  more  exacting?" 


"SMILES"     GIFT  75 

"Frankly,  I  don't  know,"  responded  Donald. 
"Since  I  read  her  letter  I  have  been  asking  myself 
that  question,  and  the  answer  worries  me,  since  I 
feel  in  a  way  responsible  for  having  opened  the  gates 
before  her  untrained  feet.  Somehow  I  cannot  disas- 
sociate little  Rose  from  her  present  environment, 
and,  although  she  certainly  has  an  unusual  charm 
for  such  a  child,  I  must  admit  that,  in  part,  at  least, 
it  was  the  result  of  —  no,  not  that,  but  made  more 
obvious  by  —  her  surroundings." 

"Well,  she  has  apparently  decided  to  take  the 
moulding  of  her  life  into  her  own  hands  and,  without 
knowing  the  quotation,  determined  to  be  'the  master 
of  her  fate  and  captain  of  her  soul.'  However, 
a  little  more  education  can  scarcely  hurt  her,  and, 
if  she  succeeds  in  saving  up  some  money,  it  will 
come  in  handy  enough  as  a  '  dot, '  in  case  she  marries 
your  friend,  Judd  Amos,  and  raises  a  family  of  moun- 
tain brats." 

Donald's  reply  was  unnecessarily  positive. 

"I'll  wager  that  she'll  never  do  that."  And  with 
that  the  conversation,  as  far  as  it  concerned  Smiles, 
ended. 


During  purloined  hours  in  the  next  few  days  the 
eminently  successful  young  physician  might  have 
been  seen  engaged  in  strange  errands,  which  took 
him  into  such  places  as  a  dressmaker's  establishment, 
and  several  stores  which  sold  textbooks.  It  was 


76  "SMILES" 

also  a  noteworthy  fact  that  the  decidedly  soiled 
and  crumpled  ten-dollar  bill,  with  which  he  had 
been  commissioned  to  purchase  the  means  through 
which  education  might  be  acquired,  was  never  taken 
from  the  special  compartment  in  his  bill  folder. 

Then  the  flood  of  fall  practice  engulfed  him,  and 
gradually  the  memory  of  little  Smiles  faded  from 
his  busy  mind,  although  it  never  quite  vanished, 
and  from  time  to  time  fresh  breezes  from  the  distant 
Cumberlands  fanned  it  to  life  like  a  glowing  ember. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SOME   OF   SEVERAL  EPISTLES 


COMMONWEALTH  AVENUE 
BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS. 

September  15,  1912. 
Dear  little  Smiles : 

If  you  had  been  able  to  look  inside  of  my  heart  when  I 
opened  your  present  and  read  your  letter,  you  would  have 
beheld  as  many  different  lights  and  shadows  there  as  you 
can  see  in  your  own  eyes  when  you  look  in  the  glass  over 
your  bureau. 

The  sight  of  that  little  jar,  and  the  scent  of  the  spiced 
rose-petals,  brought  you  so  near  to  me  that  I  thought  I 
could  almost  see  you  by  just  closing  my  eyes  —  which 
may  seem  to  you  a  funny  way  of  "seeing"  a  person.  It 
made  me  very  happy. 

The  letter,  too,  pleased  me  a  great  deal;  but  I  must 
tell  you  that  it  also  troubled  me.  That  is  when  the 
shadow  fell  on  my  thoughts  of  you. 

The  reason?  I  will  tell  it  to  you,  because  I  feel  that  I 
should,  although  please  do  not  think  that  I  want  to  croak 
like  an  old  black  crow  in  one  of  your  pine  trees. 

If  you  have  really  set  your  whole  heart  upon  becoming 
a  nurse  when  you  grow  up,  and  your  granddaddy  has 
consented,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  that  you  cannot  do  it. 
But  I  do  know  the  path  which  you  must  travel.  I  know 

77 


78  "SMILES" 

that  it  is  much  steeper,  much  more  rocky  and  full  of 
briary  bushes  than  any  one  your  feet  have  ever  climbed 
on  your  mountain,  and  you  will  have  to  keep  a  very 
brave  little  heart  inside  you,  if  you  hope  to  reach  the 
summit.  And  then,  if  you  succeed,  instead  of  finding  a 
fairy  castle  filled  with  all  sorts  of  pleasant  things,  you 
will  only  discover  another  long  and  weary  road  which 
must  be  traveled  until  your  tired  little  body,  and  heart, 
made  heavy  by  the  sufferings  of  little  children,  long  for 
the  quiet  restfulness  of  your  dear  old  mountain  home. 

Am  I  still  trying  to  discourage  you?  I  suppose  that 
I  am,  for,  you  see,  /  can  look  back  along  that  road  which 
lies  before  you,  and  I  can  remember  the  rocks  I  had  to 
climb  over,  and  the  bushes  I  had  to  struggle  through,  and 
yet  I  know  that  it  was  far  easier  for  me  than  it  will  be 
for  you. 

You  have  read  parables  in  the  Bible.  Well,  I  am 
preaching  a  modem  parable.  "  Book  learning  "  is  a  sword 
and  buckler  —  or  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say  that 
it  is  a  suit  of  strong  hunting  clothes  and  thick  leather 
knee-boots,  and  I  was  pretty  well  clad  like  that  when  I 
started  my  trip,  while  you  are  dressed-  only  in  thin  ging- 
ham, with  your  legs  and  feet  bare  —  as  I  first  saw  you. 
Please  shut  your  eyes,  dear  child,  and  try  to  see  the 
parable  picture  I  have  drawn  for  you. 

Have  you  done  it?  The  picture  is  not  as  pretty  as  the 
one  I  painted  the  night  I  told  about  how  fine  it  was 
to  be  a  nurse,  is  it  ?  But  it  is  more  nearly  true  to  life. 

Now,  think  hard  before  you  make  up  your  mind  as  to 
whether  or  not  you  really  mean  to  go  ahead,  for  —  after 
all,  little  Smiles  —  each  boy  and  girl  has  soon  to  decide, 
all  alone,  what  he  or  she  is  going  to  do  with  that  strange 
thing  which  we  call  life. 

If  your  courage  is  really  as  strong  as  that  of  the  wonder- 
ful Joan  of  Arc,  I,  too,  believe  that  you  can  succeed  and 


SOME  OF  SEVERAL  EPISTLES      79 

make  your  dream  come  true,  and  of  course  I  will  help 
you,  gladly  —  in  every  way  that  I  can. 

Now  I  am  all  through  preaching.  It  is  out  of  my  line, 
and  I  promise  not  to  do  it  again.  Within  a  few  days  you 
will,  I  hope,  get  a  boxful  of  the  books  which  I  have  sent 
you  as  you  asked  me.  Most  of  them  are  just  what  you 
wanted  —  school  books  —  but  on  my  own  hook  I  added 
one  or  two  not  strictly  for  study  —  like  plums  in  a  dry 
bread  pudding.  And,  of  course,  there  is  something  else 
in  the  box  and  /  guess  that  you  can  guess  what  it  is. 

This,  little  Smiles,  is  the  longest  letter  I  ever  wrote  to 
anybody,  I  think.  Don't  you  feel  proud?  It  must  end 
now,  however ;  but  not  before  I  ask  you  to  give  my  best 
regards  to  your  kind  granddaddy. 

Don't  let  the  cold  winter  that  is  coming,  chill  your 
warm  affection  for 

Your  sincere  friend, 

DONALD  MACDONALD. 

P.  S.    I  told  Mike  what  you  wrote  to  him,  and  he  wig- 
wagged a  message  of  love  back  to  you  with  his  tail. 

II 

BIG  JERRY'S  CABIN 
IN  WEBB'S  GAP,  VIRGINIA. 

Sep't.  20,  1912. 
Dear  Doctor  Mac: 

Oh,  dear  doctor,  can  you  ever  forgive  me  for  waiting 
two  whole  days  before  I  wrote  you  back  to  thank  you  with 
all  my  heart  for  the  many  wonderful  things  which  came 
in  that  box?  It  was  like  a  fairy's  treasure  chest.  And 
most  of  all  I  am  obliged  for  that  letter  you  wrote  me.  It 
was  the  first  letter  I  ever  got  from  any  one  and  I  shall 
keep  it  as  long  as  I  live.  I  think,  of  all  the  things  I  got, 
I  like  that  the  best.  Those  others  you  could  buy,  but 


80 "SMILES" 

you  had  to  make  that  yourself,  and  it  seemed  like  I  could 
almost  hear  you  talking  the  words  in  your  strong  voice, 
like  the  sound  of  the  falls  in  the  Swift  River. 

When  I  looked  inside  that  box  I  could  not  make  up 
my  mind  what  I  liked  best.  The  many  books  kind  of 
scared  me  when  I  opened  them  and  remembered  I  had  got 
to  know  all  that  much ;  but  the  book  of  beautiful  poetry 
I  just  love.  I  have  read  all  of  the  poetrys  and  know 
some  of  them  to  speak  already. 

Then  there  is  that  nurse's  dress.  O  how  I  love  it,  and 
how  I  wish  for  you  to  see  me  in  it.  I  plans  to  put  it 
on  a  little  while  everyday  and  pretend  that  I  am  a  real 
nurse  like  I  am  going  to  be.  I  done  it  yesterday,  and 
somehow  when  I  shet  my  eyes  and  run  my  hands  over  its 
crackely  stiff  whiteness,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  room 
was  full  of  sweet  little  babies  for  me  to  take  keer  of. 

And  now,  doctor,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  done  what  you 
said  for  me  to  do.  I  closed  my  eyes  up  tight  like  grand- 
daddy  does  when  I  say  prayers,  and  I  saw  little  Smiles 
acliming  that  rough  path,  and  walking  along  that  rough 
road  you  wrote  about,  but  by  the  side  of  that  long  road 
I  kept  aseeing  beautiful  little  flowers  what  were  fading 
and  drooping  and  calling  out  in  tiny  voices  like  baby 
chickens  for  Rose  to  keer  for  them.  So  doctor,  the  picture 
did  not  scare  me  none. 

The  Lord  give  Joan  of  Arc  (I  know  how  to  spell  it 
now)  a  silver  armor  to  protect  her,  and  I  reckon  the  white 
nurse's  dress  that  you  give  me  is  my  armor. 

Now  doctor  I  must  tell  you  about  little  Lou  and  the 
wonderful  doll  you  sent  to  her.  She  was  so  funny  when 
I  give  it  to  her  that  I  got  a  chreek  in  my  side  laughing. 
First  thing,  she  held  it  up  tight  against  her  and  when  it 
went  Ma-a-a-  like  a  calf,  she  dropped  it  quick  and  run 
and  hide  under  the  bed.  But  pretty  soon  she  crep  out 
again  and  I  showed  her  how  to  make  it  shut  its  eyes. 


SOME  OF  SEVERAL  EPISTLES      81 

Then  she  jumped  around  and  cried.  'O  Smiles,  hit 
kaint  do  them  things  but  hit  does  do  them.'  Well,  pretty 
soon,  Judd  Amos,  her  brother,  come  in  and,  when  he  saw 
it  in  Lou's  arms,  his  face  got  as  black  as  a  storm  cloud 
and  he  went  for  to  take  it  away  from  her. 

I  just  stepped  in  front  of  him,  and  said,  'Judd  Amos, 
if  you  ever  go  for  to  take  that  doll  baby  away  from  her, 
or  even  touch  it,  I  won't  never  speak  to  you  again.' 

He  was  powerful  mad  with  me,  but  he  seen  that  I 
meant  like  I  said,  so  Lou  can  keep  her  doll.  And  what  do 
you  think  she  has  named  it?  She  has  named  it  Mike. 
Even  Judd  had  to  laugh  a  little  when  she  said  that  was 
the  doll  baby's  name. 

I  am  making  baskets  as  fast  as  ever  I  can  and  Judd 
is  going  to  take  them  to  the  store  at  Fayville  for  me. 
I  went  down  with  him  and  seen  the  store-keeper  man  my- 
self last  week,  and  he  promised  me  to  buy  all  that  he  can 
from  me. 

Granddaddy  shoots  with  your  rifle  gun  most  every 
day.  He  can  hit  a  string  like  he  used  to,  but  he  would 
not  shoot  a  apple  off  my  head  like  a  man  did  in  the  book 
that  had  about  Joan  of  Arc  in  it,  although  I  wanted  him 
to. 

I  have  ritten  a  piece  of  poetry  like  Mr.  Eugene  Fields 
did,  and  this  is  it 

The  cold  may  make  my  lips  turn  blue, 
But  it  can't  freeze  my  love  for  you. 

Your  happy  and  loving  little  friend 

SMILES. 


82  "SMILES" 

III 

COMMONWEALTH  AVENUE 
BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS. 
October  24,  1912. 

Proprietor  of  the  General  Store, 

Fayville, County, 

West  Virginia. 
Dear  Sir: 

I  am  informed  that  you  are  occasionally  purchasing, 
through  one  Judd  Amos,  of  Webb's  Gap,  sweetgrass 
baskets  made  by  a  little  mountain  girl  of  that  settlement. 

I  am  interested  in  her  work,  and  herewith  enclose 
a  money  order  in  the  sum  of  ten  dollars  ($10.00)  with 
which  I  will  ask  you  to  purchase  at  a  rate  reasonably 
in  advance  of  the  one  you  are  now  paying,  all  the  baskets 
which  she  sends  to  you.  You  may  express  them  to  my 
address  each  month,  and  I  will  forward  further  funds 
upon  request. 

Please  do  not  mention  my  name  in  connection  with 
this  transaction ;  but,  if  any  questions  are  asked,  merely 
say  that  you  have  obtained  a  city  market  for  them. 

Very  truly  yours, 
(DR.)  DONALD  MACDONALD. 

IV 

WEBB'S  GAP.  Vra. 

November  24,  1912. 
Dear  Dr.  McDonald : 

How  many  letters  do  you  guess  I  have  written  to  you 
so  far  this  month?  24.  Yes,  I  have  written  you  a  long 
letter  every  day,  telling  you  all  the  things  I  did,  and 
thought,  but  of  course  I  did  not  mail  them,  for  I  knew  that 
you  would  get  tired  of  reading  them. 


But  this  one  I  am  going  to  send,  for  grandfather  has 
asked  me  to  let  you  know  that  he  has  shot  that  wild 
turkey  bird  for  your  Thanksgiving  —  which  is  Thursday 
—  and  has  sent  it  to  you  by  express  package  from  Fay- 
ville.  I  was  with  him  when  he  did  it. 

Evenings  come  right  early  now  and  we  went  into  the 
woods  just  before  sun  down.  It  was  right  beautiful, 
and  I  wished  that  you  could  have  been  with  us.  I  will 
try  and  tell  you  what  I  saw  like  I  do  in  my  daily  letters 
that  my  teacher  says  are  practice  themes.  (I  could  not 
have  spelled  that  to  save  my  life  a  month  ago.) 

Well,  except  for  the  big  pine  trees  which  never  seem  to 
change,  just  l&e  granddaddy,  all  the  tall  forest  people  and 
the  half  grown-up  children-bushes,  had  put  on  bright  new 
dresses  in  honor  of  Thanksgiving  tune.  They  were  red, 
made  of  many  colored  patches  like  Bible  Joseph's  coat,  — 
yellow  green  and  brown,  some  as  bright  as  God  could  paint 
the  colors,  some  soft,  like  they  had  been  washed  and  washed. 

Granddaddy  thought  it  was  beautiful  too  —  although 
he  called  it  "purty."  But  he  did  not  like  the  brown 
grass  and  fallen  pine  needles,  and  called  the  marsh  near 
the  river  an  ugly  mudflat ;  but  I  thought  it  was  beauti- 
ful, for  that  oozy  mud  was  deep  purple  (the  reverend 
told  me  the  word),  and  the  little  pools  of  water  were  all 
gold.  Those  are  the  colors  that  kings  dress  in,  yet  that 
old  mudflat  wore  them,  too. 

Well,  finally,  when  it  began  to  grow  dusk,  we  found  a 
wild  turkey  bird  roosting  on  a  tree  limb  and  granddaddy 
said,  'Hush,  I  aims  ter  shoot  hit  right  thru  ther  head.' 
When  you  get  it  look  where  the  bullet  went. 

Now  perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  about  what  I 
have  been  doing.  Well,  I  have  been  doing  many  things, 
but  most  of  all  I  have  been  studying. 

The  minister,  whose  name  is  Reverand  John  Tal- 
madge,  came  back  to  our  mountain  when  it  began  to  get 


84  "SMILES" 

cold,  for  he  is  in  not  very  good  health  and  can't  go  about 
much,  although  he  sits  out  doors  most  of  the  time. 

He  is  my  very  good  friend,  and  I  have  found  out  a 
lot  about  him.  One  thing  is  that  he  went  to  college  like 
you  did,  and  he  knows  a  great  deal  more  than  there  is  in  all 
those  books,  even.  So  you  see  he  can  help  me  a  good 
deal.  He  is  even  going  to  teach  me  some  Latin,  D.  V. 
I  think  that  God  must  have  sent  him  to  our  mountain. 

Every  day  I  study  the  books  you  sent,  first  with  him 
and  then  at  home,  and  I  am  getting  along  so  nice  that 
last  week,  when  the  teacher  in  our  little  school  was  away, 
they  let  me  be  the  teacher. 

And  who  do  you  think  was  one  of  my  pupils  ?  It  was 
Judd  Amos.  He  has  bought  some  books  and  is  learning, 
too.  I  reckon  he  does  not  want  a  girl  to  be  smarter  than 
he  is  at  book  learning,  which  he  says  is  nonsense  for  girls. 
But  I  know  that  it  is  not  nonsense.  Why,  I  can  travel 
in  far-off  lands  and  see  things  that  I  did  not  even  know 
were,  by  just  reading  books,  and  the  reverend  has  lent 
me  some  to  read. 

Then  I  am  still  making  my  baskets,  and  what  do  you 
think?  The  storeman  is  buying  all  I  can  send  him,  and 
paying  me  more  than  he  used  to  for  them !  He  says  that 
city  folks  like  to  buy  them  for  they  smell  so  sweet  and 
like  the  woods.  I  am  saving  all  my  money  and,  with 
what  I  had,  have  nearly  $75  already,  and,  by  next  summer, 
will  have  over  $100.  Isn't  that  wonderful?  Grand- 
daddy  pays  me  10  cents  a  week  for  keeping  house  for  him, 
too.  Isn't  he  good  ? 

Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  be  a  very  happy  little  girl? 
Well,  I  am,  and  I  guess  my  face  is  getting  all  out  of  shape, 
I  find  so  many  things  to  smile  about. 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

ROSE. 

P.  S.    Please  give  my  love  and  a  turkey  drumstick  to 
Mike. 


SOME   OF  SEVERAL  EPISTLES      85 

V 

COMMONWEALTH  AVENUE 
BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS. 

December  23,  1912. 
Dear  little  Smiles: 

Although  I  am  very  busy,  for  the  Winter  has  given 
colds  to  many  little  folks  here,  I  can  not  let  Christmastide 
go  by  without  writing  a  letter  to  you,  little  forest  friend. 
It  was  very  dear  of  you  to  send  me  that  basket  of  holly, 
which  I  found  waiting  for  me  when  I  returned,  tired  out, 
last  night. 

Its  dark  green  leaves  and  bright  red  berries  looked 
up  at  me  when  I  undid  it,  almost  as  though  they  were 
your  personal  messengers  and  were  trying  eagerly  to  say, 
"Smiles  wishes  you  a  Merry  Christmas  through  us." 
The  basket  was  indeed  a  work  of  art,  but  to  me  it  seemed 
even  more  than  that  —  a  labor  of  love. 

I  could  almost  imagine  you  tramping  through  the  snow- 
covered  mountain  woods  and  gathering  the  holiday  berries, 
and  the  picture  which  my  mind  painted  was  so  attractive 
that  I  heartily  wished  I  might  have  been  there,  too. 

I  am  delighted  with  the  accounts  of  the  progress  you 
are  making  in  your  studies,  and  your  all-too-infrequent 
letters  themselves  tell  the  story.  I'm  afraid  that  I  shall 
not  know  you  next  summer.  Write  me  just  as  often  as 
you  feel  like  doing  so,  dear,  and  if  I  do  not  always  reply 
you  may  know  that  it  is  only  because  I  am  so  very  busy. 

Now  I  have  two  pieces  of  news  to  tell  you.  I  am  sure 
that  you  will  be  very  much  pleased  with  one  of  them  and  I 
\iope  will  be  with  both. 

First,  Muriel's  mother  had  a  wonderful  present  just 
a  little  ahead  of  Christmas  day  —  not  from  Santa  Claus, 
but  from  Old  Father  Stork.  It  is  a  fine  baby  boy,  whose 
eyes  are  almost  the  color  of  yours,  and  his  name  is  to  be 


86  "SMILES" 


"Donald  MacDonald  Thayer."  I  suppose  I  have  now 
got  to  be  extra  good  in  order  to  set  my  namesake  the  right 
example. 

Knowing  how  dear  all  little  ones  are  to  your  heart,  I 
am  sure  that  you  will  be  almost  as  pleased  as  we  are  over 
this  happy  event,  and  I  can  almost  see  your  sweet  face 
light  up  with  its  wonderful  smile  as  you  read  this. 

Second,!  am  engaged  to  be  married  some  day, if  I  can 
ever  find  time.  Her  name  is  Marion  Treville  and  she 
is  very  good  and  kind,  and  every  one  thinks  she  is  very 
beautiful,  too. 

I  hope  that  you  have  by  this  time  received  the  little 
friendship  box  which  I  sent  to  you  and  your  grandfather. 
The  dress  is  a  present  from  Muriel,  who  loves  your  basket 
more  than  any  of  her  toys,  and  continually  speaks  of 
you  as  her  "dear  friend  Smiles" ;  the  hair  ribbon  is  from 
Mike  and  the  book  from 

Your  sincere  friend, 

DONALD  MACDONALD. 


VI 


WEBB'S  GAP 
January  7,  1913. 


Dear  Dr.  MacDonald : 

When  I  tell  you  that  there  has  been  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  here,  you  will  understand  why  I  have  not  written 
you  long  before  this,  to  thank  you  for  those  lovely  Christ- 
mas presents. 

Grandfather  was  delighted  with  his  tobacco,  although 
he  has  not  smoked  it  yet,  and  all  my  gifts  made  me  very 
happy.  The  dress  dear  little  Muriel  sent  me  is  so  lovely 
that  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  dare  to  wear  it,  especially 
as,  when  grandfather  saw  me  in  it,  he  looked  so  sorrowful 
as  he  said,  'Hit's  powerful  purty,  but  hit  haint  my  Smiles 
no  more,'  that  he  almost  made  me  cry.  I  wonder  if  I 


SOME  OF  SEVERAL  EPISTLES      87 

can  really  ever  leave  him  ?    He  needs  me  very  much  now. 

Oh,  I  was  so  happy  for  all  of  you  when  I  read  about 
Muriel  having  a  dear  little  baby  brother.  I  sat  right  down 
and  wrote  a  verse.  The  reverend  helped  me  with  some 
of  the  words,  but  still  I'm  afraid  that  it  is  not  very  good 
and  I  am  afraid  you  will  laugh  at  it.  It  is  the  best  I  can 
do  now,  and  I  guess  I  will  send  it  to  you  in  this  letter. 

Now  I  must  tell  you  that  your  friend,  my  grandfather, 
has  been  very  sick  since  Christmas.  The  doctor  from 
Fayville  has  been  to  see  him  several  tunes  and  he  says  the 
trouble  is  —  I  know  that  you  will  laugh  at  me  now,  but 
I  can  only  write  what  it  sounds  like  to  me  —  'Aunt  Jina 
pecks  her  wrist.'  He  has  pains  in  his  heart  and  has  to 
keep  very  still,  which  he  does  not  like  to  do,  so  I  am  the 
nurse  and,  whenever  I  feed  him,  or  give  him  the  medicine 
that  the  doctor  left,  I  put  on  my  nurse's  dress. 

Of  course  I  have  not  been  able  to  go  to  the  reverend's 
for  my  lessons,  and  I  have  not  been  able  to  study  much, 
except  when  grandfather  is  asleep ;  but  he  —  the  reverend, 
I  mean  —  comes  to  our  house  as  often  as  he  can,  and  we 
take  turns  in  reading  aloud  to  grandfather,  sometimes 
from  the  book  you  sent  me,  but  most  times  from  the 
Holy  Bible,  which  he  likes  best. 

The  reverend  says  that  it  is  better  than  medicine  to 
sooth  a  troubled  heart,  and  I  reckon  it  must  be  so,  for 
it  almost  always  puts  grandfather  to  sleep,  and  the  trouble 
is  with  his  heart,  like  I  told  you. 

Then,  beside  that,  a  little  wild  mountain  flower  was 
born  to  a  neighbor  of  ours  last  week.  We  tried — oh, 
so  hard  —  to  make  it  live,  but  the  cold  was  so  bitter  here 
that  God  took  pity  on  it  and  took  it  back  to  his  garden 
in  Paradise. 

At  first  I  could  not  help  crying,  and  I  came  home  and 
tore  up  the  verses  that  I  wrote,  but  then  I  remembered 
what  you  told  me  about  the  Reaper,  and  I  went  back  to 


88  "SMILES" 

the  poor,  sorrowful  mother  and  told  her.  And  I  re- 
membered what  you  said  about  making  people  smile  by 
smiling  myself,  so  I  did  that,  too. 

This  is  not  a  very  happy  letter,  but  grandfather  is 
getting  better  every  day,  and  summer  will  soon  be  here 
now.  The  new  year  seems  to  me  like  the  top  of  a  snow 
covered  mountain.  When  we  have  climbed  over  it,  it 
is  not  long  before  we  can  hurry  down  into  the  valley 
where  the  sun  is  warm  and  the  flowers  bloom. 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

ROSE  WEBB. 
P.  S.    I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  going  to  be  married. 

(The  Enclosure) 

Deep  the  world  with  snow  was  covered, 
Cold  and  barren  was  the  earth, 
Low  the  Christmas  angels  hovered 
As  a  little  babe  had  birth. 

Just  a  tender  little  flower, 
Dropped  upon  the  world  below 
Out  of  God's  eternal  bower  — 
Pink  as  sunrise,  white  as  snow. 

But  the  little  blossom  stranger, 
As  its  earthly  life  it  starts, 
Need  fear  neither  cold  nor  danger, 
For  'tis  planted  in  our  hearts. 

VII 

"  THAYERHURST  " 
MANCHESTER-BY-THE-SEA. 

August  15,  1913. 
My  dear  little  Smiles : 

This  is  going  to  be  a  very  short  letter,  and  can  you 
guess  why?  Early  next  month  I  am  going  to  run  away 


SOME  OF  SEVERAL  EPISTLES      89 

from  my  work  and  everything  here,  and  hurry  down  to 
your  mountain  for  two  whole  weeks  of  wonderful  vaca- 
tion. So  the  next  time  you  hear  from  me  the  words  will 
come  from  my  lips  instead  of  my  pen. 

I  have  been  very  glad  indeed  to  hear  that  Big  Jerry 
has  been  so  well  this  summer,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  has 
many  more  years  of  virile  health  ahead  of  him.  I  am 
keenly  looking  forward  to  seeing  him  cut  a  string  with 
the  new  rifle. 

The  weather  has  been  terribly  hot  in  Boston  this 
month  and  caused  much  suffering,  but  it  is  quite  cool 
and  very  pleasant  here  by  the  ocean. 

Every  night  that  it  is  possible,  I  spend  here  with 
my  sister's  family,  partly  because  I  love  to  see  my  little 
namesake,  even  for  a  moment,  partly  to  escape  the  city's 
heat  and  obtain  some  really  refreshing  rest.  It  makes 
me  almost  ashamed  sometimes,  when  I  think  how  com- 
fortable I  am,  and  how  uncomfortable  are  the  little 
children  in  the  crowded  city,  most  of  whom  have  no 
woods,  fields  and  streams  like  yours  to  play  in,  and  many 
of  whom  never  see  anything  out  of  doors  except  dirty, 
paved  streets  which  get  so  hot  that  they  burn  the  feet, 
even  though  the  fire  engine  men  frequently  send  rushing 
streams  of  water  through  them. 

But  I  know  that  a  fighter  must  always  keep  in  the  best 
possible  condition,  and  we  doctors  and  nurses  have  de- 
clared war  on  an  enemy  who  has  killed  millions  and 
millions,  and  never  takes  a  day  off. 

I  wonder  how  you  will  like  the  ocean  when  you  see  it. 
Very  much,  I  am  sure,  it  is  so  immensely  big  —  like  the 
sky  —  so  beautiful,  and  more  full  of  ever-changing  colors 
than  even  your  mountains. 

They  tell  me  that  little  Muriel  plays  beside  it  all  day 
long  on  the  fine  white  sand  and  over  the  rocks,  while  baby 
brother  lies  near  by  on  a  blanket,  kicking  and  gurgling, 


90  "SMILES" 

and  holding  long,  wordless  conversations  with  the  white 
clouds  and  sea  birds  high  overhead. 

This  has  been  a  much  longer  letter  than  I  expected 
it  to  be,  and  now  I  must  chop  it  off  short  with  just  five 
more  words, 

,  Your  affectionate  friend, 

DONALD  MACDONALD. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  HIGH  HILLS,   AND   "GOD'S  MAN" 

Sun  hath  sunk  in  radiant  splendor, 

Now  the  colors  fade  away 
And  the  moon,  with  light  more  tender, 

Sheds  its  silver  on  the  bay. 

Eventide  is  softly  casting 

O'er  the  earth  a  magic  spell, 
And  a  love-song,  everlasting^ 

On  the  night  wind  seems  to  swell. 

Deeper  grow  the  lengthening  shadows, 

Darkening  the  heaven's  blue, 
One  by  one  the  stars  are  gleaming, 

Night  is  nigh,  would  you  were,  too. 

DONALD  hummed  the  words  in  his  not  unmelodi- 
ous  baritone,  as  he  climbed  up  the  forest  path  down 
which,  twelve  months  before,  he  had  rushed  headlong, 
in  blind  anger. 

The  spell  of  the  high,  forest-clad  hills,  and  the  new- 
born night  was  upon  his  spirit.  Pleasant  anticipa- 
tions filled  his  heart,  and  left  no  room  for  painful 
recollection  as  he  hastened  over  the  needle-strewn 
pathway  on  which  the  white  radiance  of  the  full 
moon,  shining  through  the  branches,  made  a  tracery 
of  silver  and  black. 

Let  men  whose  minds  are  governed  wholly  by 
91 


92  "SMILES" 

cold  commonsense,  and  whose  souls  hold  no  spark  of 
vitalizing  imagination,  scoff  at  moon-witchery  and 
lunar  madness.  Let  them  declare  that  the  earth's 
haunting  satellite  is  merely  a  dead  world  which  can- 
not even  shine  with  its  own  light.  Magic  it  does 
wield.  And,  just  as  it  distorts  and  magnifies  all 
commonplace,  familiar  objects,  so  it  twists  the 
thoughts  of  men;  just  as  it  steals  away  the  natural 
colors  from  the  things  of  earth,  and  substitutes  for 
them  those  of  its  own  conception,  so  it  alters  the 
hues  of  man's  meditation. 

The  usually  exuberant  Mike  trotted  in  silence, 
close  to  his  master's  heels,  and  now  and  then  cast 
suspicious  glances  aloft  at  the  tall  spectre  things 
which  he  knew  to  be  trees. 

Donald  knew  that  it  was  rather  absurd  of  him  to 
be  toiling  up  the  five-mile  mountain  path  that  night, 
when  the  next  morning  would  have  done  just  as 
well ;  but  he  had  thankfully  thrown  off  the  shackles 
of  civilization  along  with  its  habiliments.  For  two 
free,  full  weeks  he  meant  to  live  like  a  child  of  the 
out-of-doors,  and  to  draw  a  brimming  supply  of 
new  energy  from  Mother  Nature's  never-failing 
breasts.  Every  moment  was  precious. 

As  he  neared  the  Gap,  his  winging  thoughts  flew 
ahead  to  Big  Jerry's  cabin  and  to  the  child-woman 
who  had  so  attracted  him  a  year  before.  Once 
more  he  told  himself  that  she  was  nothing  to  him, 
and  that  now,  especially,  he  had  no  right  to  allow 
her,  child  though  she  were,  to  hold  so  large  a  place 


THE   HIGH   HILLS  93 

in  his  heart.    Yet  what  chance  has  reason  in  com- 
petition with  moonlight? 

The  clearing,  with  the  cabin  beyond  it,  came  into 
view.  The  little  house  was  likewise  a  victim  of 
the  prevailing  necromancy,  for  its  rough,  hand-split 
and  weatherbeaten  shingles  were  now  a  shimmering 
olive-silver. 

Mike  gave  voice  to  a  joyful  yelp,  and  tried  to 
crowd  past  his  owner's  legs,  for  he  had  seen,  or  sensed, 
Rose  even  before  the  latter  became  aware  of  the 
presence  of  their  little  friend.  She  was  standing, 
alone,  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  tiny  stoop,  whose 
darkened  doorway  formed  a  black  background, 
against  which  her  figure  appeared,  cameo-like.  The 
flooding  brightness  lifted  her  form  and  face,  seen  in 
profile,  into  sharp  relief,  and  the  shadow  which  it 
cast  on  the  grass  made  her  appear  the  more  tall  and 
slender.  Grown  and  subtly  altered  she  undoubtedly 
was,  thought  Donald.  The  girlish  curves  and  lithe- 
someness  had  not  departed ;  but  they  carried  a  sug- 
gestion of  approaching  maturity.  Her  wavy  hair 
no  longer  hung  unbound  about  her  face,  but  was 
dressed  in  two  braids,  one  of  which  had  fallen  for- 
ward across  her  breast.  Shoes  and  stockings  cov- 
ered her  legs ;  but  the  simple  dress  still  left  her  neck 
and  arms  bare,  and  the  flesh  was  robbed  of  its  color 
and  made  alabaster,  the  golden  threads  stolen  from 
the  dark  hair  and  replaced  by  a  silver  sheen,  so  that 
there  was  something  ethereal,  but  startlingly  beauti- 
ful, in  the  picture. 


94  "SMILES" 

Holding  the  violently  wriggling  Mike  in  check,  one 
hand  on  his  collar,  the  other  grasping  his  jaws,  Donald 
stole  silently  forward  until  he  had  passed  the  corner 
of  the  cabin,  and  his  own  shadow  had  crept  forward, 
and  laid  itself  at  the  girl's  feet. 

Suddenly  she  perceived  it,  and  turned  with  a 
question  in  her  shadowy  eyes.  Her  lips  parted,  then 
curved  into  the  familiar  magic  smile,  as  she  cried, 
"Oh,  Doctor  MacDonald.  You've  come" 

Mike  twisted  free,  and,  with  a  mad  bound  and 
wiggle,  threw  himself  on  the  girl,  who  caught  him 
in  her  arms.  Then,  holding  him  against  her, 
she  somehow  succeeded  in  .extending  one  hand, 
shapely  and  slender,  to  meet  the  man's  two  eager 
ones. 

"Oh,  grandpap,"  she  thrilled  through  the  door- 
way. "Hurry  out  hyar.  Dr.  Mac  hes  come  fer 
ter  see  ye." 

A  sense  of  vague  disappointment  possessed  Donald 
as  he  heard  her  lapse  into  the  musical,  but  provincial, 
dialect;  but,  seeming  to  read  his  thought  that 
the  year  of  study  had  not  been  able  to  alter  it,  she 
whispered,  "I  always  talk  like  I  used  to,  to  him,  for 
he  likes  it  best." 

"I  see,  and  you're  quite  right,  too,"  was  his  low- 
voiced  reply,  as  he  heard  the  old  man's  heavy  tread 
crossing  the  bare  floor  within. 

"Wall,  wall,  stranger.  We  air  shor'ly  powerful 
pleased  fer  ter  welcome  ye  ergin,"  came  in  Big  Jerry's 
deep  and  hearty  voice,  as  he  emerged  from  the  dark- 


THE  HIGH  HILLS  95 

ness,  and  caught  Donald's  hand  in  the  old,  crushing 
vise. 

For  a  few  moments  they  all  chatted  happily,  and 
then  Jerry  said,  "Erf ore  I  fergits  hit,  us  wants  ye 
ter  stay  up  hyar  this  trip.  Ther  loft-room  air  yourn, 
an'  leetle  Rose  hes  fixed  hit  up  special  fer  ye  —  cur- 
tains et  ther  window,  er  rag  rug  on  ther  floor,  an' 
ther  Lawd  knows  what  else." 

"Do  you  really  want  me  to?"  cried  the  newcomer 
in  pleased  surprise. 

"Of  course  we  really  want  you,"  answered  the 
happy  girl. 

"Then,  by  Jove,  I'll  be  only  too  glad  to,  although 
I  had  not  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"I  allows  thet  yo'  kin  regard  this  hyar  cabin  as 
yo'r  home  whenever  yo're  hyarerbouts,  an'  we  wants 
fer  ye  ter  feel  thet  hit  air  home,"  said  the  giant 
with  simple  courtesy. 

w  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  that  means  to  me  — 
real  hospitality  like  that,"  began  Donald,  hesitat- 
ingly. "You  know  I  ...  I  haven't  any  real  home 
and  haven't  had  .  .  .  since  mother  left  us,  and  my 
sister  was  married.  Of  course,"  he  added  hastily, 
"my  rooms  are  pleasant  and  comfortable,  and  all 
that;  but  they're  only  a  place  to  work,  sleep  and 
eat  in,  and  there  isn't  any  of  that  indefinably  vital 
something  —  a  soul,  perhaps  —  which  makes  a  real 
home  a  sacred  spot,  no  matter  how  big  or  how  small 
it  may  be.  I  get  frightfully  lonely  there,  some- 
times." 


96  "SMILES" 

"I  didn't  allow  thet  a  man  could  git  lonely  in 
the  city,"  yeplied  Jerry. 

"'In  the  city?'  My  dear  man,  one  can  be  twice 
as  lonely  there  as  any  place  I  know  of.  The  very 
life  makes  for  shut-inness,  in  mind  as  well  as  body, 
and  tbeve  are  thousands  and  thousands  of  men,  and 
women,  too,  there,  who  know  scarcely  a  soul  out- 
side of  the  very  few  with  whom  their  daily  work 
brings  them  in  contact ;  and  they  are  mere  acquaint- 
ances, not  friends.  They  see  only  the  four  walls 
of  the  rooms  in  which  they  work  and  sleep,  and  the 
walled-in  streets  between  the  two. 

"These  very  streets  seem  to  me  to  typify  the  city's 
life  —  so  hard,  so  filled  with  hurrying,  jostling  crowds 
of  people,  all  equally  intent  upon  their  own  narrow, 
selfish  affairs,  people  who  would  think  a  fellow  crazy 
if  he  spoke  to  them  pleasantly,  as  you  did  to  me  the 
first  time  I  saw  you.  There  are  thousands  who  never 
even  lift  their  eyes  to  the  narrow  strips  of  sky  between 
the  tall  buildings.  They  —  and  they  only  —  know 
what  real  loneliness  is. 

"Of  course  I'm  not  one  of  those  unfortunates," 
he  added  quickly,  "for  I  have  many  friends,  and 
am  making  new  ones  daily;  but  that  is  the  atmo- 
sphere I  live  in  fifty  weeks  of  the  year.  Do  you 
wonder  that  it  gets  on  my  nerves  at  times,  and  that 
I  long  to  run  away  from  it  all  and  get  into  the  big, 
open  spaces  in  the  warm  heart  of  friendly  nature? 

"Do  you  think  that  I  can  ever  feel  lonesome 
in  the  forest  and  fields,  with  living  things  always 


THE  HIGH  HILLS  97 

about  me  which  are  ready  to  share  themselves 
with  me?" 

"I  reckon  I  haint  never  thought  uv  thet.  This 
hyar  mountain  country  air's  whar  I  hev  lived  in  con- 
tentment all  my  life,  an'  I  allows  thet  hit's  good 
ernough  fer  me  ter  keep  on  livin'  in,  twill  I  dies." 

Rose  remained  silent,  although  obviously  dis- 
turbed by  Donald's  words;  but,  before  she  could 
voice  her  thoughts,  another  figure  quietly  joined  the 
group  —  a  tall,  stooping  man,  clean  shaven,  and 
with  an  aesthetic  countenance  seemingly  out  of  its 
natural  environment. 

"Why,  it's  my  minister  man,"  cried  Rose  joy- 
fully. "Wherever  did  you  come  from?" 

"My  wanderings  brought  me  close  home,  and  I 
could  not  pass  by  without  calHng  on  my  two  good 
friends  in  Webb's  Gap." 

"An'  we  air  downright  glad  fer  ter  see  ye,  rever- 
end,''' answered  the  host.  "This  hyar  air  the  doctor 
man  from  the  city,  what  leetle  Rose  hes  told  ye  so 
much  erbout." 

Donald  already  felt  drawn  to  the  strange  divine, 
their  common  interest  in  the  girl  acting  as  a  lode- 
stone,  and  he  clasped  his  hand  with  friendly  pressure. 
The  other  returned  it  less  vigorously,  but  no  less 
sincerely,  and  Donald  experienced  a  peculiar  mes- 
meric thrill  which  startled  him  a  little. 

"Perhaps  I  should  apologize,"  began  Mr.  Tal- 
madge  in  a  low  voice,  the  timbre  of  which  still  re- 
tained the  resonance  of  early  culture.  "I  came  on 


98  "SMILES" 

this  happy  scene  —  or  at  least  to  the  comer  of 
the  house  —  while  you  were  speaking  of  life  in 
the  city,  and  I  could  not  very  well  help  pausing 
and  listening. 

"I  know  your  feelings  only  too  well,  Dr.  MacDon- 
ald.  I  was  born,  bred  and  worked  in  New  York 
until  my  health  became  undermined  by  just  such 
influences  as  you  mentioned;  and  I  was  forced  to 
run  away,  too,  and  seek  the  hills  'whence  cometh 
my  help.'" 

"And  deep  in  your  inner  consciousness  you  don't 
regret  the  change,  do  you?"  asked  Donald. 

"No.  Perhaps  I  am  selfish  —  a  shirker  —  and 
there  are  times  when  the  old  call  to  get  back  where  I 
know  that  the  need  is  greatest  comes  like  a  clarion. 
But  for  myself,  the  disaster  —  which  once  seemed 
like  a  curse  —  has  turned  out  to  be  a  blessing,  as  is 
so  often  the  case.  I  have  learned  a  great  lesson, 
doctor. " 

"What  lesson?"  queried  Rose. 

"God's,"  responded  the  minister,  quietly.  "It 
may  seem  strange  to  you,  my  dear,  but,  although 
I  was  reared  in  a  religious  family,  went  through  a 
great  theological  school,  and  was  the  rector  of  a 
city  church  for  ten  years,  I  never  fully  knew  Him 
until  I  came  here." 

"Why,  Mr.  Talmadge  ! "  gasped  the  girl  in  aston- 
ishment, while  Donald  said  bluntly,  "Do  you  really 
believe  that  you  know  Him,  now?" 

"I  do.    Not,  of  course,  in  all  the  fullness  of  His 


THE   HIGH   HILLS  99 

mysterious  majesty,  but  as  a  friend  whose  ways  are 
no  longer  hidden  from  my  eyes." 

" Frankly,  I  wish  I  might  say  as  much,"  said  the 
doctor.  "I,  too,  was  brought  up  in  a  religious 
household,  but  small  good  it  did  me,  for,  when  I 
became  old  enough  to  think  for  myself,  the  glaring 
errors  and  inconsistencies  in  my  childhood  belief 
became  so  apparent  that  I  became  hopeless  of  ever 
understanding  the  truth  which  might  lie  within  that 
astonishing  maze.  I  quit  going  to  church  long 
ago." 

"Doctors  are  generally  regarded  as  an  atheistic 
lot,"  smiled  the  minister. 

"That's  slander.  We  may  —  in  the  aggregate  — 
be  agnostic.  ...  I  suppose  that  I  am." 

"I  ...  I  don't  understand,"  said  Rose  in  distress, 
"but  I  don't  like  for  to  hear  yo'  say  that,  Dr.  Mac." 

"It  may  not  be  as  bad  as  it  sounds,  my  child," 
laughed  Mr.  Talmadge.  "An  atheist  is  indeed  a 
terrible  person,  who  doesn't  believe  in  our  heavenly 
Father,  but  an  agnostic  is  only  one  who  confesses 
that  he  doesn't  know  .  .  .  but  may  be  quite  willing 
to  learn." 

"Oh,  learn  ...  I  mean  teach  him,  then,"  she 
said  earnestly.  "You  are  God's  man  and  know 
everything  about  Him,  Mr.  Talmadge." 

"Indeed  I  don't  —  far  from  it,  and  I  imagine 
that  your  friend  doesn't  want  to  hear  a  sermon  on 
the  mount." 

"J  do,7*  she  cried^  "there's  lot  of  things  I  want 


100  "SMILES" 

to  hear  about,  but  I've  always  been  afraid  to  ask 
you,  till  now." 

Rather  gruffly  Donald  added  his  word,  "I  hope 
that  I  am  broad-minded  enough  not  only  to  receive, 
but  to  welcome,  any  light  on  a  subject  which  is,  I 
imagine,  the  most  vitally  important  one  in  life." 

"Well,  then,  suppose  we  hold  a  little  spiritual 
clinic  for  our  Rose's  benefit  primarily,  remembering 
that  where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in 
His  name,  God  will  be  with  them.  And,  after  all, 
what  time  could  be  more  fitting  than  this  silent,  holy 
night;  what  place  more  suitable  than  this  great 
temple  of  the  out-of-doors,  for  us  simple  children 
of  His  to  seek  understanding?" 


CHAPTER  X 

"SMILES'"  CONSECRATION 

IF,  half  an  hour  previous,  Donald  had  been  told 
that,  during  the  first  evening  of  his  long  anticipated 
visit  to  his  forest  of  enchantment,  he  was  to  play  the 
part  of  patient  in  a  spiritual  clinic,  conducted  by  a 
wandering  backwood  preacher  for  the  instruction  of 
a  seventeen-year-old  mountain  girl  —  as  well  as  for 
his  own  enlightenment  —  he  would  have  scoffed 
at  the  idea ;  yet,  oddly  enough,  he  felt  no  sense  of 
displeasure  or  antagonism. 

In  the  company  of  this  unaffected  man  of  God, 
the  simple  old  mountaineer  and  the  equally  simple 
girl  only,  vanished  all  the  self-conscious  reserve 
and  reticence  which  usually  attacks  the  modern 
city  dweller  when  called  upon  to  speak  of  things 
spiritual  and  eternal,  and  which  had  so  often  bound 
Donald's  tongue,  even  when  his  inner  being  cried 
aloud  for  expression. 

"I  hardly  blame  you  for  your  attitude  of  mind, 
doctor,"  began  Mr.  Talmadge.  "Although  it  is 
certain  that  the  knowledge  of  God  starts  from  Him- 
self a  ray  of  pure  white  light,  the  dogmas,  creeds 
and  theologies  —  invented  by  many  men  of  many 
minds  —  have  raised  between  it  and  our  spiritual 

101 


102  "SMILES" 


eyes  a  glass  clouded  with  earthly  murkiness,  through 
which  we  now  see  darkly.  Only  as  mankind  grows 
in  spiritual  stature,  and  lifts  his  head  above  the 
clouds,  can  he  hope  to  see  the  ray  in  all  its  purity 
and  glory." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that's  so,"  assented  Donald. 
"But  I'm  afraid  that  my  difficulties  lie  deeper  than 
the  unessential  differences  in  dogma.  However, 
since  our  little  friend  is  the  one  who  has  questions 
to  ask,  let  her  conduct  the  catechism." 

Rose  was  speechless  with  embarrassment,  but 
finally  managed  to  say,  "I  reckon  I'm  so  ignorant, 
that  I  can't  say  the  things  that  are  in  my  heart. 
Please,  Dr.  Mac.,  you  ask  the  reverend  the  ques- 
tions and  let  me  just  sit  and  listen.  Only  don't 
use  too  big  words,  for  I  want  to  understand." 

"All  right,  I'll  be  cross-examiner,  but  please 
believe,  Mr.  Talmadge,  that  what  I  may  say  is  not 
intended  to  be  argumentative,  but  rather  honestly 
inquisitive.  I  really  would  like  to  find  out  if  any  one 
can  reasonably  explain  some  of  the  many  things 
in  religion  to  the  acceptance  of  which  I  have  been 
unable  to  reconcile  myself." 

"I'll  do  it  gladly,  if  I  can.  But,  before  you  begin, 
let  me  apologize  for  what  I  said  in  ill-timed  jest  about 
doctors  being  atheists.  I  suppose  that,  in  one  sense, 
there  isn't  a  more  truly  religious  class  of  men  in 
the  world." 

"I  can't  agree  to  that,  either,"  said  Donald. 

"Perhaps  not,  but  tell  me  this.    Isn't  the  structure 


"SMILES'"   CONSECRATION     103 

and  functionings  of  the  human  body  infinitely  more 
wonderful  to  you,  who  have  made  an  intimate  study 
of  it,  than  it  can  be  to  us  who  have  not?" 

"Undoubtedly.  It's  the  most  marvellous  thing 
on  God's  earth,"  answered  Donald,  unthinkingly  em- 
ploying an  expression  heard  in  childhood. 

"There!"  cried  Mr.  Talmadge.  "He's  convicted 
out  of  his  own  mouth,  isn't  he,  Rose?  'God's 
earth',  he  says." 

"A  mere  figure  of  speech,"  the  physician  laughed. 

"A  statement  of  fact,  sir.  There  are  mighty  few 
of  you  doctors  who  will  not,  within  your  hearts  of 
hearts,  agree  that -a  Supreme  Being  must  have  de- 
signed this  earthly  temple  which  we  call  our  body, 
the  world  we  dwell  in,  and  established  the  laws  that 
govern  both.  And,  knowing,  as  none  others  can, 
how  wonderfully  the  former  is  constructed,  is  not  a 
doctor's  appreciation  of  the  Almighty's  power  bound 
to  be  sincere?" 

"  Granted.  But  that  isn't  being  religious,"  Donald 
protested. 

"It  is  the  foundation  of  all  true  religion,"  was  the 
quiet  answer. 

The  physician  was  still  dubious.  "Well,  perhaps. 
Still,  I  doubt  if  many  ministers  would  agree  that 
merely  because  a  man  may  believe  in  a  superhuman 
creative  power,  he  is  religious,  if,  at  the  same  time 
he  says  —  as  I  must  —  that  he  doesn't  and  can't 
subscribe  to  many  of  the  things  which  we  'vere  taught 
as  children  to  believe  as  'gospel  truth."1 


104  "SMILES" 

^ - 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  shocked  and  troubled 
"Oh,"  from  Rose,  but  the  minister's  composure  was 
in  no  wise  ruffled. 

"The  trouble  is,  I  imagine,  that  you  have  mentally 
outgrown  the  willingness  to  accept  certain  statements 
blindly,  as  children  and  primitive  minds  do,  and  yet 
have  made  no  really  earnest  endeavor  to  lift  the 
veil  and  look  behind  it  with  the  intent  of  finding  out 
if  a  simple  and  understandable  truth  may  not  lie 
hidden  there." 

"But  how  is  one  going  to  get  behind  a  plain  state- 
ment of  what  is  apparently  meant  to  be  fact,  such 
as  the  description  of  the  creation- in  Genesis?"  de- 
manded Donald,  somewhat  impatiently.  "Science 
is  absolute,  and  I,  for  one,  know  that  the  Darwinian 
theory  of  life,  or  one  substantially  like  it,  is  true. 
Why,  a  study  of  human  anatomy  proves  it,  even  if 
we  did  not  have  conclusive  evidence  in  anthropology 
and  geology.  So,  in  the  very  first  words  of  the  Bible, 
we  start  off  with  a  conflict  between  its  tenets,  and 
what  human  learning  shows  us  to  be  an  indisputable 
fact." 

"Do  we?"  smiled  the  minister. 

"Don't  we?"  answered  Donald. 

Rose  sat  looking  first  at  one,  then  at  the  other,  with 
a  puzzled  look  in  her  eyes,  for  it  was  all  Greek  to  her. 

Noticing  this,  Mr.  Talmadge  said,  "I  guess  that 
we've  started  a  bit  too  strongly  for  our  little  listener, 
but  we  want  her  to  accompany  us  from  the  start," 
and  he  briefly,  in  simple  words,  outlined  the  Darwin- 


ian  theory,  which  brought  an  outraged  grunt  from 
Big  Jerry.  Then  he  turned  back  to  Donald,  and 
said,  "Take  the  story  of  ...  well,  say  the  prodi- 
gal son,  for  an  example.  Was  that  the  account  of 
real  happenings,  think  you?" 

"  Of  course  not.  Merely  a  parable."  The  other's 
mind  reverted  to  the  one  which  he  himself  had 
preached  by  letter  to  little  "Smiles." 

"The  Bible  is  filled  with  parables,"  said  Mr.  Tal- 
madge,  simply.  "Why  should  we  regard  certain 
stories  as  allegories  merely,  and  others  as  historically 
accurate  statements  of  fact  when  they  are  difficult 
to  credit  as  such?  Especially  why  should  we  do  so 
in  the  face  of  the  obvious  fact  that  the  earlier  part 
of  the  Old  Testament  is  simply  tradition,  handed 
down,  orally  at  first,  by  an  intensely  patriotic  and 
rather  vain  race?  Sacred  tradition  it  is,  to  be  sure; 
but  that  should  not  deter  us  from  endeavoring  to 
analyze  it  in  the  light  of  reason.  Besides,  hasn't 
it  ever  occurred  to  you  that  in  a  translation  from  the 
original  Hebrew,  some  of  the  finer  meanings  of  the 
old  words  are  sure  to  have  been  lost  or  distorted?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that  is  so." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Hebrew  word  'Yarn,' 
which,  in  the  story  of  the  Creation,  has  been  translated 
'day,'  also  means  'period.'  And  it  is  a  rather  inter- 
esting thing,  in  this  connection,  that  the  biblical 
account  mentions  an  evening  to  each  of  the  first 
six  'days,'  but  not  to  the  seventh,  which  shows  that 
it  isn't  finished  yet.  Science  tells  us  that  this  last 


106  "SMILES" 

period,  since  the  creation  of  mankind,  has  already 
lasted  many  thousands  of  years  —  although  the 
length  of  time  ascribed  to  it  varies  greatly  —  and 
this  gives  us  some  idea  of  how  long  those  other  'days' 
might  have  been.  Besides,  in  this  case,  we  do  not 
have  to  be  'finicky'  about  the  meaning  of  the  ancient 
word,  for  in  the  Psalms  there  is  a  verse  which  says 
that  a  thousand  years  in  His  sight  are  ..." 

"Are  but  as  yesterday,"  Rose  completed  the 
quotation  in  her  gentle  voice.  "You  see,  those  were 
God's  days,  not  ours." 

"Well,  I'll  be  ...  blessed,"  said  Donald.  "It  is 
logical  enough,  isn't  it?  The  trouble  in  this  case, 
at  least,  was  that  I  never  consciously  tried  to  recon- 
cile what  I  regarded  as  the  old  and  new  beliefs." 

"But,  Mr.  Talmadge,"  Smiles'  perplexed  voice 
broke  in.  "If  human  beings  just  developed  from 
a  kind  of  monkey  ..." 

"The  anthropoid  ape  wasn't  exactly  a  monkey, 
although  he  may  have  looked  and  acted  like  one," 
laughed  Donald. 

"Well,  but  how  could  the  Good  Book  say  that 
God  created  man  in  His  own  image?" 

"Do  you  remember  what  Paul  said,  in  his  wonder- 
ful epistle  to  the  Corinthians?  He  answered  your 
question  when  he  wrote,  'There  is  a  natural  body, 
and  there  is  a  spiritual  body  .  .  .  and  as  we  have 
borne  the  image  of  the  earthly,  so  shall  we  also  bear 
the  image  of  the  heavenly.'  What  does  the  Bible 
say  that  God  is,  Rose?" 


"SMILES'"   CONSECRATION     107 


"' 


God  is  a  spirit,''1  whispered  Smiles,  rever- 
ently. 

"Exactly.  And  Dr.  MacDonald  will  tell  you 
that  'spirit'  comes  from  a  Latin  word  which  means 
'breath.'  When  God  perceived  that  some  of  the 
earth  creatures  had,  according  to  His  plan,  developed 
sufficiently  in  mind  so  that  they  could  rule  the  world, 
He  breathed  into  them  some  of  His  own  spirit,  and 
thus  created  them  in  His  own  image  —  for  of  course 
a  spirit  hasn't  form  and  shape  like  beings  of  flesh 
and  blood." 

"Hasn't  He?"  gasped  the  girl.  "Why,  there  is  a 
picture  of  Him,  like  a  great  big  man  with  long  beard, 
in  my  Bible." 

"Merely  symbolic,  dear  child,  and  I  have  always 
felt  that  it  was  a  vain  symbolism,  in  both  senses  of 
that  word.  You  look  them  up  hi  your  new  dictionary 
to-morrow.  In  trying  hard  to  picture  God,  men 
have  made  Him  in  the  likeness  of  the  most  wonderful 
things  their  eyes  had  ever  seen  —  themselves  — 
and  just  increased  His  size.  As  for  the  beard,  that 
is  supposed  to  be  a  sign  of  power  and  strength. 

"Of  course,  in  fact,  God  isn't  a  man  or  even  a 
super-man,  but  a  spirit,  combining  the  spiritual 
elements  of  both  male  and  female." 

"I  reckon  I  jest  hev  ter  think  of  er  somebody  fer 
ter  worship,"  broke  in  the  hitherto  silent  Jerry. 
"Jest  something  like  ther  wind  air  er  bit  too  onsar- 
tain  fer  me." 

"And  for  millions  of  others,"  answered  the  minister 


108  "SMILES'* 

quickly.  "Of  course  there  isn't  the  slightest  bit 
of  harm  in  people  thinking  of  Our  Heavenly  Father 
as  a  Being  with  a  form  which  our  eyes  might  see 
if  they  were  only  given  the  power  to  behold  heavenly, 
as  well  as  earthly,  things.  The  conception  of  the 
Omnipotent  as  a  physical  embodiment  has  in  the 
past  been  of  incalculable  advantage  in  making  an 
appeal  to  an  aboriginal  type  of  mind,  since  it  really 
requires  some  sort  of  material  personification,  which 
it  can  at  least  visualize,  the  conception  of  which  serves 
as  an  incentive  for  well-doing,  and  a  deterrent  from 
evil  doing.  It  is  therefore  infinitely  preferable  as  a 
working  basis  to  an  unembodied  force." 

Big  Jerry  brought  a  smile  to  the  lips  of  the  other 
two  men  by  bursting  out,  "Durned  ef  I  understand. 
Them  words  air  too  powerful  ederkated  fer  me." 

"But,"  said  Rose,  "what  you  say  kind  of  fright- 
ens me,  Mr.  Talmadge.  If  we  can't  ever  see  God, 
even  in  Heaven,  how  can  we  be  sure  that  He  is  ?" 

"Have  you  ever  seen  .  .  .  love?"  queried  the 
minister  softly. 

"No,  sir." 

"Yet  you  know  that  it  is.  You've  never  seen, 
tasted,  touched  or  smelled  thought,  but  you  know 
that  it  exists.  In  the  same  mysterious  way  we  know, 
and  we  shall  know  more  perfectly  hereafter,  that  the 
Great  Spirit  —  I've  always  loved  that  beautiful 
Indian  expression  —  is." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  somewhat  uncertainly.  "I  think 
that  I  understand.  But  it's  powerful  hard  to  under- 


"SMILES"    CONSECRATION     109 

stand  how  I  can  be  His  little  child  if  He  isn't  a 
person." 

"I  don't  wonder  that  it  puzzles  you,  dear.  It  is 
hard  for  even  the  oldest  of  us  to  try  to  imagine 
something  entirely  different  from  what  we  have 
actually  seen  with  our  mortal  eyes,  and  we  can  hardly 
conceive  of  a  spirit,  or  even  a  ghost,  as  something 
without  some  sort  of  a  form,  even  though  it  be 
a  very  misty  one.  But  the  real  you  isn't  the  flesh 
that  we  can  see  and  touch,  but  the  spirit  that  dwells 
inside,  and,  just  as  some  of  your  earthly  father  and 
mother  is  in  your  body,  so  you  have  something  of 
God  within  you,  which  was  given  you  at  birth.  We 
call  it  .  .  ." 

"My  soul." 

"Yes.  And  as  that  was  part  of  Him  you  are  His 
child  ...  so  are  we  all — 'spiritual  children." 

"And  Jesus?  Was  He  His  son  in  the  same  way?" 
whispered  the  girl. 

"Exactly,  only  to  a  far  greater  degree  than  we 
can  hope  to  be,  for  to  Him  the  Heavenly  Father  gave 
His  spirit  in  fuller  measure  than  He  ever  had  before 
to  mankind,  so  that  He  might  set  an  example  to  the 
world  and  teach  us  the  way  we  should  try  to  live." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  Smiles 
spoke  the  thought  that  had  been  troubling  her. 
"But,  Mr.  Talmadge,  if  God  hasn't  any  body  and 
our  spirits  are  like  him,  why  heaven  ..." 

Mr.  Talmadge  sent  a  glance  of  smiling  appeal  at 
the  doctor  as  though  to  say,  "Now  I'm  in  for  it. 


110  "SMILES" 


How  can  I  explain  heaven  as  a  spiritual  condition?" 
Aloud  he  said,  "I  won't  pretend  to  know  just  what 
heaven  is  like,  but,  of  course,  our  spirits  won't  need 
an  earth  like  this  to  walk  on." 

"But,"  persisted  the  child,  "the  Good  Book  says 
that  there  are  many  mansions  there,  and  golden 
streets,  and  also  that  it  is  a  land  flowing  with  milk 
and  honey." 

"So  it  does,  and  very  likely  there  are,  in  the  realms 
of  the  spirit,  things  which  correspond  to  those  that 
we  have  known  on  earth,  but  I  am  quite  sure  that 
they  are  not  material  things." 

"Ef  thar  haint  no  real  heaven,  thar  haint  no  real 
hell,"  broke  in  Big  Jerry,  whose  mind  had  been  slowly 
grasping  the  meaning  of  the  minister's  words.  "I 
reckon  thar  must  be  a  place  uv  punishment  fer 
sinners." 

Painstakingly,  as  though  explaining  to  a  child, 
Mr.  Talmadge  answered,  "Mr.  Webb,  did  you  ever 
do  something  wrong,  because  of  which  your  conscience 
troubled  you  later?" 

"Reckon  I  hev.  Reckon  I  suffered  the  torments 
uv  the  damned  fer  hit." 

"Did  you  ever  burn  your  hand?" 

"Yes,  I  done  the*  too ;  powerful  bad." 

"Which  caused  you  the  most  suffering,  your 
conscience  or  your  hand?" 

"I  erlows  thet  my  conscience  done  hit." 

"That  is  the  answer  to  your  implied  question. 
God  doesn't  need  to  give  us  new  bodies,  and  send 


"SMILES'"   CONSECRATION     111 

them  into  a  place  of  fire  and  brimstone  to  punish  us 
for  our  sins.  If  the  soul  suffers,  it  is  in  hell,  even 
though  it  may  still  be  in  our  mortal  bodies.  That 
it  must  suffer,  when  we  do  wrong,  we  know.  But, 
Mr.  Webb,  I  do  not  think  that  it  is  meant  to  be 
punishment  in  the  sense  of  retribution  —  getting 
even  —  so  much  as  it  is  for  correction.  You  know 
that  men  put  gold  through  the  fire  to  purge  it  of 
the  dross  that  makes  it  dim  and  lustreless.  That 
is  what  the  fires  of  the  spirit  are  for ;  that  is  why  the 
Bible  speaks  of  Hell  as  a  place  of  fire.  It  is  another 
parable." 

"Yes,  I  see,"  said  Rose,  but  the  old  man  shook  his 
head,  unconvinced.  Then  the  girl  asked  suddenly, 
"But  why  was  God  so  good  as  to  give  us  part  of 
Himself  and  let  us  make  it  impure  and  suffer,  Mr. 
Talmadge?" 

"Ah,  now  you  are  getting  into  the  depths  of  religion 
and  I'd  rather  not  discuss  that  until  you  have  had 
a  chance  to  think  over  what  we  have  talked  about 
already.  All  that  I  wanted  to  do  to-night  was  to 
get  both  you,  and  the  doctor,  to  thinking  for  your- 
selves. Come  and  see  me,  doctor,  if  you  want  to 
continue  this  discussion.  I've  cot  theories  on  any 
subject  that  you  may  mention,  I  guess,"  he  laughed. 
"But  I  won't  count  the  evening  wasted  —  even 
leaving  out  the  pleasure  I  have  had  —  if  I  have 
helped  to  open  your  eyes,  ever  so  little,  to  the  light." 

"Oh,  you  have  .  .  .  and  mine,  too,"  answered 
Rose.  "I  mean  to  think  hard^  but  if  I  get  very 


112  "SMILES" 

puzzled,  I'll  come  to  see  you  about  it.  But,  anyway, 
I  mean  to  be  God's  little  child  all  my  life  —  as  well 
as  a  trained  nurse.  And  I  mean  to  help  Dr.  Mac., 
always,  to  be  a  child  of  our  heavenly  Father,  too," 
she  added,  simply.  As  Donald  arose  to  bid  the 
minister  good-night,  his  eyes  were  a  little  misty,  for 
the  girl's  unaffected  declaration  had  moved  him 
more  deeply  than  he  had  ever  been  moved  in  his 
life. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ADOPTION  BY   BLOOD 

FOR  a  little  while  Donald  lay  awake  under  the 
eaves  in  his  loft  room,  but  his  sleeplessness  was  the 
result  neither  of  worry  or  nervous  tension.  His 
mind,  indeed,  was  unusually  contented.  None  of 
the  disturbing  thoughts  of  difficult  tasks  on  the 
morrow  assailed  it;  he  felt  only  an  unwonted  peace 
and  contentment.  The  impressions  left  by  the  even- 
ing's talk  still  swayed  and  uplifted  his  soul.  Yet, 
deep  within  his  consciousness,  there  was  a  vague 
realization  that  it  would  be  long,  if  ever,  before  he 
could  hope  to  pattern  his  life  by  the  precepts  of  the 
man  of  God  who  had  so  stirred  him.  Happily,  he 
could  not  foresee  how  soon  mortal  passions  were  to 
repossess  him  wholly,  to  blot  out  the  new  spiritual 
light  which  was  his. 

In  her  little  room  below,  Rose,  too,  lay  awake,  her 
youthful  mind  teeming  with  wonderful,  new  ideas 
garnered  from  the  seeds  sown  by  the  "reverend"; 
but  the  insistent  call  of  slumber  to  her  tired,  healthy 
body  in  time  lulled  her  busy  thoughts  to  rest. 

"Oh,  Doctor  Mac,  come  quick!  Grandpappy's 
hurted." 


114  "SMILES" 


Sound  asleep,  and  even  then  visioning  the  girl 
whose  terrified  voice  suddenly  wove  itself  into  the 
figment  of  his  dream,  when  the  first  word  fell  upon  his 
ears,  Donald  was  wide  awake,  and  he  was  half  out 
of  bed  before  the  last  was  spoken. 

He  paused  only  long  enough  to  draw  on  his  hunting 
breeches  and  thrust  his  bare  feet  into  their  tramping 
boots  —  which  left  a  hiatus  of  unstockinged  mus- 
cular calf  —  hurriedly  dropped  down  the  ladder,  and 
in  two  strides  was  out  of  doors. 

Near  the  wood  pile  stood  the  old  mountaineer, 
on  his  countenance  expression  of  mingled  pain  and 
chagrin,  the  latter  dominating.  His  right  hand 
still  grasped  the  keen-edged  axe,  while  Rose  stood 
beside  him,  clasping  his  brawny  left  forearm  with 
both  of  her  small  but  sinewy  hands. 

As  Donald  approached  them  on  the  run  he  noticed 
that  the  girl  had  sacrificed  her  treasured  hair  ribbon 
to  make  a  tourniquet  halfway  up  the  old  man's 
arm,  and  that  blood  was  running  down  his  hand  and 
falling  from  the  finger  tips  with  slow,  rhythmical 
continuity. 

"Hit  haint  nothin'  et  all,  Smiles,"  Big  Jerry  was 
rumbling  forth.  "Hit  air  jest  er  scratch.  I  don't 
know  how  I  come  fer  ter  do  hit  an'  I  reckon  I  ought 
ter  be  plumb  ershamed,  Why,  Smiles,  I  been  er- 
choppin'  wood  fer  nigh  onter  fifty  year,  an'  I  haint 
never  chopped  myself  erfore.  Hit  war  thet  tarna- 
tion knot.  But  hit  haint  nothin',  this  hyar  haint." 

"Come  over  to  the  well  where  we  can  give  it  a 


ADOPTION  BY  BLOOD          115 

wash,"  was  Donald's  curt  command,  and  Big  Jerry 
followed  him  obediently,  while  the  girl  hastened 
ahead  and  drew  up  a  bucket  full  of  pure,  sparkling, 
ice-cold  spring  water.  The  doctor  tipped  it  uncere- 
moniously over  the  giant's  arm,  and,  as  the  already 
coagulating  blood  on  the  surface  was  washed  away, 
made  a  hasty  examination  of  the  slanting,  ugly  gash 
beneath. 

"Superficial  wound.  No  artery  or  major  muscle 
severed,"  he  announced,  as  though  addressing  a 
class.  "Still,  you  were  right  in  taking  the  precau- 
tion of  applying  that  tourniquet,  Rose.  I  suppose 
it  was  bleeding  pretty  merrily  at  first." 

"Hit  war  spoutin'  powerful,"  she  answered,  in  her 
stress  of  excitement  lapsing  into  the  language  of 
childhood. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  That  is  in  a  way  a  good  thing 
in  such  cases,  however.  It  automatically  cleanses 
the  wound  of  any  infectious  matter.  Look,  Rose," 
he  added,  as  though  explaining  to  a  clinic,  "see  how 
the  blood  is  thickening  up  into  a  clot?  That  is 
chiefly  the  work  of  what  we  call  'white  corpuscles'  — 
infinitely  tiny  little  organisms  whose  sole  purpose 
in  life  is  to  eat  up  disease  germs  which  may  get  into 
the  veins,  and  to  hurry  to  the  surface  when  there  is  a 
cut,  cluster  together  and  die,  their  bodies  forming  a 
wall  against  the  wicked  enemies  who  are  always 
anxious  to  get  inside  the  blood  for  the  purpose  of 
making  trouble." 

"I  told  ye  'twarnt  no  thin',"  said  Big  Jerry,  not 


116  "SMILES" 

without  a  note  of  relief  in  his  voice,  however.  "A 
leetle  blood-lettin'  won't  do  me  no  hurt.  I'll  jest 
wind  a  rag  eround  hit,  an'  ..." 

"Not  so  fast,"  laughed  Donald.  "In  all  probability 
'a  rag  just  wound  round  it'  would  do  the  business, 
for  your  blood  is  apparently  in  first-class  condition, 
with  its  full  share  of  the  red  corpuscles ;  but  you 
might  just  as  well  have  the  benefit  of  the  hospital 
corps  since  we  are  on  the  ground.  The  red  corpuscles," 
he  added,  addressing  Smiles,  "are  the  other  good 
little  chaps  who  continually  go  hurrying  through  the 
body,  feeding  it  with  oxygen  and  making  it  strong. 
Run  into  the  house  and  get  my  'first  aid'  kit,  from 
my  knapsack,  child.  You'll  remember  it  when  you 
see  it,  for  I  had  to  dig  it  out  the  very  first  time  that  I 
saw  you." 

The  girl  hurried  cabinwards,  fleet  as  the  wind, 
and,  as  the  two  men  sat  down  on  a  woodpile  to  wait 
for  her,  Donald  had  an  opportunity  to  take  note  of 
his  ludicrously  inadequate  costume. 

It  seemed  little  more  than  a  minute  before  Rose 
returned  with  his  kit,  but  it  was  not  brought  by  a 
mountain  maid.  In  that  almost  incredibly  short 
time  the  child  had  changed  her  gingham  dress  for 
the  immaculate  costume  of  a  trained  nurse,  and  the 
transformation  in  apparel  had  been  accompanied  by 
one  in  mien  no  less  noticeable.  Dainty  and  fait 
as  a  white  wild  rose  she  was,  yet  seriously  business- 
like in  expression.  Donald  was  startled  for  a  moment 
It  carne  to  his  mind  that  he  was  looking  upon  a  vision 


ADOPTION  BY  BLOOD          117 

of  the  years  to  come,  and  the  picture  caused  his  heart 
to  beat  a  little  faster;  but,  although  the  light  of 
appreciation  shone  in  his  eyes,  his  only  comment  was, 
"Are  your  hands  as  clean  as  that  dress?" 

"Yes,  doctor." 

"Now  how  the  deuce  did  she  come  to  use  that 
stereotyped  response?"  he  wondered;  then  said, 
aloud,  "Then  undo  that  roll  of  gauze  bandage  and 
tear  off  a  piece  about  six  feet  long  ...  be  careful! 
Don't  let  it  touch  the  ground." 

Then  he  immediately  gave  his  attention  to  Big 
Jerry,  and  smiled  with  professional  callousness  as 
he  caught  the  giant's  wince  when  the  antiseptic 
fluid  which  he  poured  on  the  wound  started  it  smart- 
ing. 

"Now  for  your  first  lesson  in  the  scientific  appli- 
cation of  a  bandage,  Smiles,"  he  said. 

Very  carefully  she  followed  his  directions,  and 
at  length  the  split  end  was  tied  with  professional 
neatness.  But,  as  his  ringers  tested  the  knot,  the 
girl  seized  one  of  his  hands  and  exclaimed,  with  solic- 
itude, "Why,  you're  hurt,  too,  Doctor  Mac. !" 

She  indicated  on  one  of  his  fingers  a  small  jagged 
tear  from  which  the  blood  was  slowly  oozing. 

"How  the  dickens  did  I  do  that?"  he  demanded 
in  surprise. 

"Sliding  down  the  ladder  from  the  loft-room,  I 
reckon.  See,  there's  a  piece  of  splinter  in  it  still." 

"Right-o,  Miss  Detective."  He  turned  to  tfee 
old  man  and  remarked,  "It  looks  as  though  your 


118  "SMILES" 

blood  and  mine  had  been  mixing,  this  morning. 
Why  not  complete  the  ceremony  and  make  it  an 
adoption  by  blood ;  the  way  they  used  to  do  in  some 
of  the  Indian  tribes,  you  know?"  he  added,  half 
jestingly,  and  acting  on  a  sudden  impulse.  "You 
can  take  me  into  the  clan  as  ...  well,  as  your 
foster-son." 

"Thar  haint  no  clan  nowadays,  I  reckon,  but  ef 
yo'  wants  fer  ter  be  my  foster-son  I'd  shor'  be  pleased 
fer  ter  hev  ye  es  such,  lad." 

"Great.  I  feel  like  'one  of  the  family'  already, 
and  if  you  will  adopt  me  as  a  new  son  —  with  all 
the  privileges  and  obligations  of  one  —  I'll  appreciate 
it,  no  joking." 

As  a  pledge  of  then-  compact  the  city  and  mountain 
man  clasped  hands  solemnly,  while  Rose  stood  by, 
delightedly  smiling  her  benediction  upon  their  act. 
"Why,"  she  cried,  "that  makes  me  your  little  foster 
sister,  Doctor  Mac.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  !" 

"Yes,  so  it  does."  Donald  answered  with  a 
cheery  voice,  but  no  sooner  were  the  words  spoken 
than  a  sense  of  rebellion  took  possession  of  him. 
"Idiot!"  he  muttered,  shaking  off  the  feeling  with 
an  effort  of  his  will. 

"But  haint  .  .  .  aren't  you  going  to  do  up  your 
hurt  finger,  too?"  she  queried  anxiously. 

The  man  seized  the  broken  sliver  with  his  fingers 
and  jerked  it  out,  examined  the  tiny  incision  and 
then  thrust  the  wounded  member  into  his  mouth. 
"Don't  ever  tell  any  of  my  patients  that  you  saw 


ADOPTION  BY  BLOOD          119 

me  do  this,"  he  laughed,  with  a  return  to  good  humor, 
"but  that  is  my  way  of  treating  a  minor  injury  .  .  . 
then  I  forget  it.  It's  a  fearful  secret,"  he  added, 
lowering  his  voice,  "but  nature,  aided  by  sun  and 
air,  are  wonderful  healers,  and  just  ordinary  saliva, 
if  a  person  is  healthy,  is  both  cleansing  and  healing." 

"Thet  air  the  way  anumals  cures  thar  hurts," 
remarked  Jerry. 

"Yes,  it  is  nature's  way,  and  if  the  blood  is  pure, 
and  the  cut  not  so  deep  as  to  make  infection  likely, 
there  isn't  a  much  better  one,  after  all.  However, 
Miss  Nurse,  you  may  practice  your  art  on  my  finger, 
too,  if  you  want." 

He  held  his  hand  out,  and,  flushing  with  childish 
happiness,  Rose  bound  up  the  little  scratch  pains- 
takingly, answering  Donald's  brief  word  of  com- 
mendation with  a  flashing  smile.  Indeed,  experience 
with  many  nurses  of  many  grades  of  ability  made 
him  aware  that  her  untrained  fingers  held  an  unusual 
degree  of  natural  knack  which  augured  well  for  the 
future. 

During  a  simple  breakfast,  leisurely  eaten,  the 
trio  talked  over  in  detail  the  varied  happenings  of  the 
year  that  had  passed,  and  Donald  was  as  astonished 
as  he  was  pleased  to  discover  what  diligent  applica- 
tion the  girl  had  exercised  in  her  studying,  and  what 
results  she  had  attained,  despite  the  manifold  handi- 
caps under  which  she  had  labored.  Her  ministerial 
friend  and  mentor  had  truly  guided  her  feet  far 
along  the  lower  levels  of  learning.  Yet  the  old  and 


120  "SMILES" 

well-remembered  childish  charm  had  been  in  no 
wise  lessened,  and  the  unaffected  simplicity  with 
which  she  dropped  into  the  mountain  tongue,  when 
speaking  to  her  grandfather,  caused  Donald  to  glow 
with  sympathetic  appreciation. 

As  they  finished  eating,  Big  Jerry  remarked, 
"Hit  air  a  powerful  fine  mornin'  fer  ter  spend  huntin', 
my  boy.  I  reckon  yo'll  wish  ter  git  inter  the  woods 
right  smart,  an'  ef  yo'  desires  ter  make  a  day  uv  hit, 
Smiles  '11  fix  ye  up  er  leetle  lunch  ter  take  erlong." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  exactly  sure  what  I  shall  do,"  an- 
swered Donald,  with  slight  hesitation.  "Perhaps 
what  I  need  most,  to  start  with,  is  just  plain  rest, 
and  I  rather  guess  I'll  laze  around  this  morning,  and 
maybe  go  down  to  Fayville  to  get  my  grip  this 
afternoon." 

"Wall,  thet  air  a  good  idee.  Jest  make  yo'rself 
ter  home.  I've  got  a  leetle  bizness  ter  attend  to  up 
the  mountain  a  piece,  an'  I  allows  yo'  kin  git  erlong 
'thout  me  fer  a  while."  He  departed,  disappearing 
with  surprising  rapidity,  and  left  the  man  and  girl 
together. 

Donald  sank  onto  the  doorstep,  leaned  against 
the  side  post,  and  sucked  away  at  his  pipe  with 
lazy  contentment,  alternately  watching  Rose  as  she 
flew  busily  about  her  simple  household  duties,  and 
sending  his  gaze  out  over  the  broad  stretch  of  peaceful 
mountainside,  which  lay  dozing  in  the  warm  morning 
sun. 


CHAPTER  XH 

THE   THREE   OF  HEARTS 

AT  length  Donald  said,  abruptly,  "You  haven't 
asked  me  anything  about  Miss  Treville,  Smiles." 

There  was  a  perceptible  pause  in  the  girl's  dish- 
drying,  and  the  simple  mountain  ballad  that  she 
was  happily  humming  broke  off  in  the  middle  of  a 
minor  cadence.  The  man  regarded  her  with  curi- 
osity as  she  slowly  approached  him,  saying,  "I  didn't 
mean  to  be  so  forgetful,  doctor,  and  I'm  plumb 
ashamed.  I  should  be  pleased  to  have  you  tell  me 
all  about  her." 

"Why,  I  don't  know  as  there  is  much  to  tell," 
he  replied,  a  h'ttle  nonplussed  by  the  unexpected- 
ness of  the  implied  question.  "Of  course  she  is 
very  nice  and  very  lovely,  as  I  wrote  you." 

"What  does  she  look  like?" 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot  hope  to  give  a  very 
accurate  description  of  her,  Rose.  It  would  per- 
haps be  easier  if  you  had  ever  visited  an  art  museum, 
and  seen  statues  of  some  of  the  Greek  goddesses, 
for  people  say  that  she  looks  like  one  of  them.  You 
see  she  is  quite  tall  for  a  woman  —  almost  as  tall 
as  I  am  myself  —  and  .  .  .  well,  her  form  and  the 
way  she  carries  herself  is  queenly.  Then  she  has 


122  "SMILES" 

hair  darker  than  yours,  and  .  .  .  her  eyes  are 
gray,  I  guess,  although,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  never 
noticed  particularly.  She  isn't  pretty  like  a  wild- 
flower,  but  very  beautiful,  more  like  a  stately  culti- 
vated bloom.  When  you  have  seen  conservatory 
blossoms  you  will  know  better  what  I  mean.  She  is 
very  serious,  too.  Even  when  she  is  quite  happy 
it  is  sometimes  a  bit  hard  to  tell  it,  for  she  seldom 
really  smiles.  ...  I  wish  she  would,"  he  added, 
as  though  to  himself,  "she  has  wonderful  teeth." 

"Oh,  she  must  be  very  lovely,"  mused  Rose,  and 
added  with  slight  hesitancy,  "I  reckon  you  must 
love  her  powerful." 

K  Yes,  of  course,"  Donald  answered,  and  then  added, 
as  though  a  logical  reason  for  his  affection  was  neces- 
sary, "You  see,  I  have  known  Marion  all  her  life. 
She  is  my  sister's  closest  friend,  and  almost  grew 
up  in  our  house." 

"I  wish  I  had,"  said  Rose,  the  note  of  envy  in  her 
voice  being  outweighed  by  the  childlike  sincerity 
which  her  words  carried.  "What  does  she  do?" 

"Do?  Why,  I  don't  know,  exactly  —  what  all 
society  girls,  with  plenty  of  money  at  their  disposal, 
do,  I  suppose.  Of  course  she  has  clubs  which  she 
belongs  to,  and  she  goes  to  dances  and  theatres  and 
...  I  think  she  is  interested  in  some  sort  of  charity, 
too."  He  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  he  was 
failing  to  make  out  a  very  strong  case  for  the  woman 
to  whom  he  was  engaged,  and  at  the  same  time  won- 
dering why  any  vindication  of  her  should  seem  neces- 


THE  THREE  OF  HEARTS       123 

sary,  since  he  had  always  regarded  her  as  a  bit  too 
perfect,  if  anything. " 

"Oh,  that  is  lovely,  for  the  Bible  says  that  the 
greatest  of  all  is  charity,"  cried  Rose,  her  eyes  spark- 
ling. "And  does  she  go  about  helping  poor,  lonesome 
city  people,  and  the  dear  little  poor  children?  It 
must  be  wonderful  to  have  lots  of  money,  so  that  you 
can  do  all  sorts  of  things  to  make  them  happier  and 
better." 

"Confound  the  child,"  thought  Donald,  although 
his  exasperation  was  directed  rather  at  himself, 
than  at  her.  "It's  positively  indecent  the  way  she 
gets  inside  one.  Judged  by  the  standards  of  her 
class,  Marion  is  a  splendid  girl  —  head  and  shoulders 
above  the  average  —  yet  these  unconsciously  search- 
ing questions  of  Smiles'  are  .  .  .  Hang  it  all,  I  wish 
J  had  had  sense  enough  not  to  open  the  subject." 

Aloud  he  said  non-committally,  "Yes,  of  course  it  is 
wonderful  and  I  know  that  you  would  do  it  if  you 
were  able." 

"I  shall  do  it,"  was  the  confident  answer.  "I 
can't  give  money  but  I  can  give  myself."  There 
was  a  moment  of  silence;  then  Rose  added  softly, 
"J  guess  she  loves  you  a  lot,  too,  you  are  so  good 
to  ...  to  people,  and  do  such  wonderful  things. 
When  do  you  calculate  to  get  married  to  her,  Doctor 
Mac?" 

"Married?"  he  repeated  in  a  startled  voice,  "Oh, 
some  day,  of  course;  but  you  know  how  terribly 
busy  I  am,  and  ..."  He  stopped,  visualizing 


124  "SMILES" 


himself  at  that  moment  as  he  lolled  indolently  in 
the  doorway  of  that  mountain  cabin,  and  wondering 
if  the  same  thought  were  in  her  mind  as  was  in  his. 
At  the  same  time  came  a  welcome  interruption  in 
the  appearance  of  a  small  child,  brown  as  the  pro- 
verbial berry,  and  bearing  in  her  arms  a  large  and 
rather  dilapidated  appearing  doll.  For  an  instant 
Donald  failed  to  recognize  her,  and  said,  "Hello, 
here  comes  one  of  your  little  friends  to  see  you, 
Smiles.  Why,  I  do  believe  .  .  .  yes,  it's  Lou.  Come 
along.  You're  not  afraid  of  the  doctor  man  who  sent 
you  that  doll." 

Lou  advanced,  one  ringer  in  her  mouth,  the  corners 
of  which  were  lifting  in  a  shy  smile.  Sensing  the 
approach  of  another  old  friend,  Mike  bounded  out 
of  the  doorway  where  he  had  lain  panting  in  the 
shadow,  and  so  energetic  was  his  greeting  that  the 
child  was  very  nearly  upset  by  it,  although  as  soon 
as  she  could  regain  her  equilibrium  she  flung  her 
little  arms  around  the  roughly  coated  neck,  without 
a  trace  of  fear. 

"Mike's  got  er  broken  leg,"  she  announced.  The 
words  gave  Donald  a  start  until  he  saw  that  she  was 
holding  out  to  him  her  doll,  one  of  whose  limbs  flapped 
about  in  piteous  substantiation.  "Kin  yo'  make  hit 
well  ergin?" 

Examining  the  injured  member,  whence  the  saw- 
dust blood  had  issued  through  a  deep  incision  in  the 
cloth,  Donald  replied  seriously,  "It  will  require  a 
rather  serious  operation,  but  I  £uess  that  I  can  mend 


THE  THREE  OF  HEARTS 

it  with  the  assistance  of  Nurse  Smiles.     We  will  hav 
to  sew  up  the  wound  and  put  the  leg  in  splints." 

"Hit  haint  er-goin'  ter  hurt  her  much,  air  hit?" 
begged  Lou,  with  all  the  solicitude  of  a  young  mother. 

"No.  We'll  give  her  an  anesthetic  —  something 
to  put  her  sound  asleep  —  and  I  guess  that  she  won't 
know  anything  about  it."  Rose  joined  them  laugh- 
ingly, bringing  a  threaded  needle  and  some  bits 
of  cloth  for  stuffing  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  opera- 
tion was  complete,  even  to  the  application  of  splints, 
roughly  shaped  by  Donald's  jack-knife.  Through- 
out the  process  the  physician  explained  each  step 
to  Rose,  who  cried  as  they  finished,  "Oh,  I  love  to 
do  it.  It's  lots  more  fun  than  book  studying  or 
weaving  baskets." 

"Well,  we  might  have  a  real  lesson  in  'first  aid' 
this  morning,  if  Lou  can  stay  and  be  your  little 
patient.  Bring  out  that  roll  of  bandages  again." 

What  a  merry  hour  they  spent,  helped  by  Mike, 
who  insisted  in  doing  his  share  by  licking  the  patient 
at  every  opportunity.  The  air  was  so  warm  that 
Lou's  little  dress  could  be  taken  off,  and  as  she  gig- 
gled or  screamed  with  merriment,  Donald  and  Rose 
treated  her  for  every  conceivable  fracture,  sprain 
or  injury,  the  former  all  the  while  explaining  in  the 
simplest  language  at  his  command  the  major  facts 
of  human  anatomy. 

Rose  proved  to  be  an  astonishingly  apt  pupil, 
and  after  each  demonstration  insisted  on  going 
through  both  the  procedure  and  explanation  alone. 


126  "SMILES" 

Finally,  in  the  course  of  demonstrating  an  unusually 
intricate  piece  of  bandaging,  Donald  put  his  arms 
about  Smiles,  the  better  to  guide  her  hands,  and 
impulsively  drew  her  close  against  him.  He  could 
not  see  her  face,  but  he  perceived  that  a  quick  flush 
mantled  her  neck  and  delicately  rounded  cheek. 
She  moved  away  hastily,  saying  in  a  low  voice,  "I 
reckon  you  oughtn't  do  like  that,  Doctor  Mac." 

"Why,  Smiles!"  came  his  response  in  a  hurt 
tone. 

"I  don't  mean  for  to  hurt  you,  and  of  course  I 
cares  for  you  like  I  used  to,  but  I  guess  it  ain't  .  .  . 
isn't  .  .  .  just  right  for  you  to  put  your  arms 
around  me  ...  that  way  now.  I'm  most  grown 
up  now,  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  you're  pledged  to  ... 
to  some  one  else."  During  her  speech  the  color 
had  flamed  brighter  and  brighter. 

The  man  was  both  surprised  and  chagrined.  He 
realized,  of  course,  that  in  many  respects  Rose  was 
indeed,  '  most  a  woman  now '  —  that  she  was  far 
more  mature  in  certain  ways  than  city-bred  girls 
of  the  same  age;  for,  while  they  might  be  infinitely 
more  sophisticated  in  worldly  ways  than  she,  they 
are  still  children,  whereas  she  had  already  entered 
into  the  problems  of  life  and  for  several  years  had 
not  only  been  in  full  charge  of  a  home,  but  in  ultimate 
touch  with  the  issues  of  life  and  death  in  the  little 
community.  Understanding  all  this,  he  neverthe- 
less looked  upon  her  as  a  child  because  of  the  child- 
like simplicity  which  characterized  her  still. 


THE  THREE   OF  HEARTS       127 

"I  see,"  he  answered  slowly  and  a  little  ashamed, 
then  added  lightly,  "but  you  have  apparently  for- 
gotten that  you  adopted  me  as  a  foster-brother  this 
morning." 

For  a  moment  she  said  nothing ;  then  the  old  misty 
smile  touched  her  lips,  and  she  replied,  "I  shor' 
most  forgot  that,  and  it  makes  it  all  right.  Please, 
Doctor  Mac.,  don't  think  that  I  didn't  enjoy  for  you 
to  do  it." 

There  succeeded  another  brief,  awkward  silence. 
Then  Smiles  slipped  her  arm  about  Donald's  neck 
with  frank,  childlike  affection,  and  leaned  close 
to  him,  her  young,  warm  being  thrilling  his  senses, 
as  he  full  well  realized  Marion's  infrequent  embraces 
never  had. 

Shocked  and  distressed  by  his  own  emotions,  Donald 
was  the  first  to  withdraw  his  encircling  arm,  with  an 
intent  to  continue  the  lesson.  But  it  was  ended. 

During  the  brief  interlude  Lou  had  stood  regarding 
the  man  and  girl  uncomprehendingly.  Now  she 
piped  up,  "Smiles  loves  ye  er  heap,  I  reckon, 
doctor  man,  an'  so  does  I.  Ef  she  don't  marry  with 
ye,  I'll  do  hit  when  I  gits  bigger." 

"My,  but  I'm  a  fortunate  man  to  have  three  fair 
ladies  love  me,  and  I  won't  forget  your  promise," 
Donald  laughed  merrily. 

"But  my  brother  Juddy  don't  love  ye  none," 
said  the  child,  innocently  bringing  a  cloud  over  the 
friendly  sunshine  in  her  hearers'  hearts.  Donald 
looked  at  Rose  uneasily  as  he  answered. 


128  "SMILES" 


"Oh,  I  hope  he  will  like  me  some  day.  We  should 
be  the  best  of  friends,  for  we  both  care  for  the  same 
two  dear  girls." 

"Where  is  Juddy?"  came  Smiles'  somewhat 
troubled  query. 

"Oh,  he  air  away  ergin ;  up  in  ther  mountain." 

The  shadow  deepened  on  Rose's  face  and  Donald 
caught  the  sound  of  a  distressed,  "Oh." 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  without  special 
thought. 

"It  haint  ...  it  isn't  anything  .  .  .  leastwise 
it  isn't  anything  that  I  can  tell  you  about,  doctor 
Mac.  I  ...  I  just  don't  like  for  him  to  go  up 
there." 

A  feeling  closely  akin  to  jealousy  stirred  Donald's 
heart.  Did  that  uncouth  young  mountaineer  really 
mean  something  to  her  after  all  ? 


CHAPTER  XIII 

GATHERING  CLOUDS 

DESPITE  Smiles'  ingenuous  proffer  of  a  sister's 
affection,  Donald  was  troubled  with  an  unreasonable 
dissatisfaction  over  the  course  which  the  events  of 
the  morning  had  taken,  and  he  knew  that  it  was 
unreasonable,  which  made  it  worse.  Now  he  sud- 
denly announced  that  he  guessed  he  would  not  wait 
until  the  afternoon  before  going  down  to  Fayville 
to  get  his  small  amount  of  baggage. 

The  girl  was  troubled,  also,  without  knowing  just 
why,  and  she  watched  his  departure  with  an  unhappy 
feeling  that  somehow  the  changes  which  the  year  had 
made  in  both  their  lives  had  raised  a  misty  barrier 
between  them  —  intangible,  but  not  easily  to  be 
swept  away.  Furthermore,  young  as  she  was,  she 
intuitively  sensed  that  hers  was  the  necessity  of 
reconstructing  their  friendship  on  a  new  foundation, 
because  she  was  a  woman.  The  man  could  not  do  it. 

Meanwhile  Donald  performed  his  downward 
journey  with  none  of  the  lightness  of  heart  which 
makes  a  long  walk  a  pleasure,  rather  than  a  task. 
Going  down  the  wooded  descent,  where  the  dew 
still  lay  wet  beneath  the  heaviest  thickets,  was  not 
so  bad ;  but,  when  he  had  obtained  his  grip  and  gun, 


130  "SMILES" 

and  started  on  the  back  trail,  his  discomforts  com- 
menced. As  the  main  street  of  the  little  village 
changed  its  character,  first  to  a  road  and  then  a 
cart  path  through  the  fields,  it  grew  deep  with  dust, 
and,  although  no  air  stirred,  it  seemed  to  rise,  as 
water  does  by  capillary  attraction,  until  his  clothing 
was  saturated  and  his  mouth  and  nose  overlaid  with 
a  film  of  it.  Overhead  the  sky  burned,  and  from 
the  brown  fields,  which  stretched  to  the  wooded  base 
of  the  mountain,  heat  waves  rose  as  though  the  dry 
earth  were  panting  with  visible  breath.  An  insect 
chirped  half-heartedly  in  the  grass,  and  then  left 
off  as  though  the  effort  were  too  great,  and  a  small 
striped  snake  leisurely  wove  a  sinuous  path  through 
the  dust  ahead  of  him,  and  vanished  with  a  faint 
hiss. 

It  was  better  when  he  struck  the  woods,  for  there 
was  shade;  but  the  air  was  more  sultry  and  the 
added  exertion  of  climbing  started  the  perspiration 
and  turned  the  coating  of  dust  to  sticky  grime. 
Still  the  breeze  delayed,  and  the  fragrant  odors  of 
the  woods  were  cloying.  His  luggage  grew  heavier 
and  yet  more  heavy;  his  arm  and  back  began  to 
ache  painfully. 

When  physical  discomfort  is  accompanied  by 
morose  introspection,  the  result  is  certain  to  be 
unpleasant,  and  Donald's  thoughts  were  in  dismal 
grays  and  browns,  which  ill-matched  the  radiant 
colors  of  external  nature. 

Certainly  Smiles  was   not  to  blame,  he  thought, 


GATHERING   CLOUDS  131 

as  he  trudged  up  and  up.  The  fact  still  remained 
that  they  lived  on  utterly  different  planes,  and  that 
he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  falling  in  love  with 
her,  or,  even  mentally,  violating  his  pledge  to  Marion. 
Pshaw,  she  was  nothing  but  a  child !  It  was  foolish, 
absurdly  so,  yet  somehow  he  felt  that  his  world  was 
out  of  joint,  and,  since  he  could  not,  or  would  not, 
determine  just  what  the  trouble  was,  he  could  not 
take  active  measures  to  bring  about  a  readjustment. 
With  a  conscious  effort  of  his  will  he  put  the  moun- 
tain child  out  of  his  thoughts,  and  attempted  to 
analyze  his  real  feelings  for  the  city  girl,  to  whom  he 
was  betrothed.  He  could  assign  no  reason  to  the 
vague,  but  persistent,  feeling  which  frequently  pos- 
sessed him,  when  he  was  apart  from  her,  that  she 
was  not  his  natural  mate.  Her  poise  and  reserve, 
which  sometimes  irritated  him,  he  knew  to  be  really 
virtues,  in  a  way  as  desirable  as  they  were  rare  in 
women,  even  of  her  class ;  her  unusual  beauty  fully 
satisfied  his  eye;  she  was  a  reigning  queen,  the 
desired  of  many  men  and  he  had  won  her,  although 
he  hesitated  a  little  over  the  word  "won. "  Finally, 
he  was  certain  that  she  loved  him,  after  her  fashion. 
Why  should  he,  a  man  as  reserved  as  he  was,  and 
one  who  had  little  time  to  spend  on  the  romantic 
embellishments  of  life,  ask  for  more?  Yet  there  was 
mute  rebellion  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  and  even 
the  memory  of  that  milestone  night,  eight  months 
before,  when  the  spirit  of  Christmastide  had  added 
its  spell  to  the  influences  of  life-long  propinquity, 


132  "SMILES" 

and  they  had,  almost  without  spoken  words,  crossed 
the  border  and  pledged  themselves  to  one  another, 
brought  no  thrill. 

"I  know  that  she  is  a  wonderful  woman,  and  a  real 
beauty,"  mused  Donald,  half  aloud.  "The  trouble 
must  be  ...  yes,  is,  with  me.  She's  too  wonderful 
for  my  simple  tastes;  that's  the  truth,  as  I  told 
Ethel.  Oh,  well,  perhaps  I  can  learn  to  live  up  to 
her  .  .  .  but  I  hate  this  society  stuff." 


Donald's  return  to  the  cabin,  weary  and  uncom- 
fortable in  body  and  mind,  found  Big  Jerry  sitting 
heavily  in  a  chair,  with  Smiles  hovering  about, 
and,  from  the  expression  on  the  face  of  each,  he 
sensed  at  once  that  something  was  wrong.  The  old 
man  was  saying,  somewhat  laboriously,  "Hit  don't 
pain  me  ...  much,  Rose,  gal.  Hit  haint  nothin' 
.  .  .  ter  mention.  I'll  jest  set  still  hyar  erwhile, 
an'  .  .'.». 

As  the  girl  caught  sight  of  Donald's  big  form 
in  the  doorway,  her  face  brightened  momentarily; 
but  it  clouded  again  with  swift  pain  when  he  touched 
his  heart  with  a  significant  gesture,  accompanied 
by  a  questioning  look.  She  nodded,  then  said 
aloud,  "Here's  our  Doctor  Mac.  back  ergin,  grand- 
pappy.  I  reckon  he  kin  do  somethin'  fer  ter  help 
ye." 

The  newcomer  attempted  a  cheery  laugh,  and 
said,  "Well,  I'm  not  much  good  unless  we  can  turn 


GATHERING   CLOUDS  133 

Time's  flight  backward,  and  make  him  a  child  again 
temporarily.  Kiddies  are  my  specialty,  you  know, 
and  although  I've  a  few  grown-up  patients,  left  over 
from  the  time  when  I  took  whatever  came,  and  was 
thankful,  I  am  killing  them  off  as  fast  as  I  can." 

He  spoke  facetiously,  with  the  design  of  instilling 
a  lighter  element  in  the  conversation ;  but,  although 
Jerry  smiled  wryly,  the  girl  looked  so  shocked  that 
Donald  hastened  to  add,  "Please  don't  be  alarmed, 
dear,  of  course  I  didn't  mean  that  literally.  And 
you  know  that  I  will  do  anything  in  my  power  to 
help.  I  only  wish  that  I  knew  more  about  troubles 
affecting  the  heart,"  he  added. 

"Reckon  the  doctor  down  in  Fayville  hed  ought 
ter  say  the  same  thing,"  interposed  the  old  man. 
"I  erlows  he  didn't  do  me  no  good,  fer  I  got  better 
es  soon's-I  quit  takin'  the  stuff  he  left  me.'' 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  him,  foster  father.  After 
all,  what  you  probably  needed  most  was  to  give 
that  big  heart  of  yours  a  rest,  and  that  is  what  did 
the  business  then,  and  will  now.  Well,  I'll  look  you 
over  anyway.  I  guess  professional  ethics  won't 
be  outraged,  with  the  other  physician  five  steep, 
uphill  miles  away." 

While  he  talked  he  had  been  opening  his  suitcase, 
and  now  took  out  a  compact  emergency  bag  which 
experience  had  taught  him  never  to  go  away  with- 
out, and  at  whose  shining,  unfamiliar  contents 
Smiles'  eyes  opened  with  fascinated  amazement. 
Taking  out  a  stethoscope,  Donald  bade  the  giant 


SMILES 


open  his  soft,  homemade  shirt,  and  planted  the 
transmitting  disk  against  the  massive  chest,  padded 
with  wonderful,  bulging  muscles. 

"O-ho,"  he  said  under  his  breath,  as  he  finally 
laid  the  instrument  aside;  for  his  intently  listening 
ears  had  caught  the  faint,  but  clearly  discernible 
sound  of  a  systolic  murmur,  deep  within. 

"Air  the  trouble  'Aunt'  .  .  .  what  the  other 
doctor  said  hit  was?"  questioned  Rose. 

"Angina  pectoris?  He  may  have  had  a  touch  of 
that  last  winter  of  course,  but  my  guess  is  that  it's 
something  a  bit  different  now." 

"I  haint  erfeered  ter  hyar  the  truth,"  rumbled 
Jerry,  straightening  up  like  a  soldier  before  the  court 
martial. 

"Well,"  answered  the  doctor,  "I  should  say  that 
you  have  a  touch  of  another  jaw-breaking  Latin 
phrase,  namely,  an  aneurism  of  the  thoracic  aorta," 

"Hit  shor'  sounds  powerful  bad,"  grunted  Jerry. 
"But  then  I  reckon  thet  doctors  likes  ter  use  big 
words." 

"Right.  For  instance,  we  prefer  to  call  an  old- 
fashioned  cold  in  the  head,  '  Naso-pharyngitis.  ' 
The  worse  it  sounds,  the  more  credit  we  get  for  cur- 
ing it,  you  see.  Well,  'sticks  and  stones  may  break 
ourrbones,  but  words  will  never  hurt  us,'  so  don't 
let  that  Latin  expression  worry  you.  Just  take  things 
a  bit  easy,  don't  overdo  physically  or  get  over- 
excited, and  you'll  be  good  for  many  a  moon  yet," 
he  added  lightly. 


GATHERING   CLOUDS  135 

Jerry  fastened  up  his  shirt  with  big,  fumbling 
fingers  and  walked  slowly  outside,  while  Rose,  tears 
of  pity  shedding  a  misty  luminousness  over  her  eyes, 
stepped  close  to  Donald  and  laid  her  hand  appeal- 
ingly  on  his  arm,  "Is  it  something  pretty  bad,  Doctor 
Mac.  ?  "  she  breathed. 

"Well,  it's  apparently  a  mild  case  ...  so  far." 
"But  the  trouble  ...  is  it  ...  is  it  dangerous?" 
He  hesitated  an  instant,  then  responded  quietly, 
"Nurses  have  to  know  the  truth,  of  course,  and  I 
am  sure  that  you  have  a  brave  little  heart,  so  I'm 
not  afraid  to  tell  you  that  it  is  bad.  It  is  almost 
sure  to  be  fatal,  in  time,  but  not  necessarily  soon. 
If  he  will  take  things  easy,  as  I  told  him  to,  he'll 
live  for  a  considerable  time  yet;  but  we  mustn't 
allow  him  to  get  very  greatly  excited,  or  do  any  very 
heavy  work." 

Suddenly  very  white,  but  calm  and  tearless, 
Smiles  answered,  "I  reckon  I  can  help  him 
better  if  I  know  all  about  it,  doctor.  I  got  to  help 
him,  you  know.  He's  all  I  have  now  in  the  whole 
world." 

"Of  course  you're  going  to  help  him  —  we  both 
are  —  but  .  .  .  you  have  me,  little  sister,  and  your 
life  work,"  he  answered  with  awkward  tenderness. 
"Now  let  us  see  if  I  can  make  you  understand  what 
I  believe  the  trouble  to  be.  In  its  incipient  —  that 
is,  its  early  stages,  it  would  be  rather  hard  to  tell 
from  angina  pectoris,  for  the  symptoms  would  be 
much  the  same  —  pain  about  the  heart  and  shortness 


136  "SMILES" 

of  breath.  But  one  can  get  over  the  latter,  and  feel 
perfectly  well  between  attacks." 

He  picked  up  from  his  open  suitcase  a  folded  news- 
paper which  he  had  tossed  in  half  read,  on  leaving 
the  city,  and  drew  for  her  a  crude  diagram  of  the 
heart  and  major  arteries. 

"This  biggest  pipe  which  goes  downward  from  the 
heart  is  called  the  great  artery,  and  it  and  its  branches 

—  just  like  a  tree's  —  carry  the  blood  into  all  parts 
of  the  body,  except  the  lungs.    Another  name  for 
it  is  the  descending  thoracic  aorta,  and  that  is  where 
grandfather's   trouble   is.     If  you   knew   something 
about  automobile  tires  I  would  explain  it  by  saying 
that  he  had  a  blow-out,  but  it's  something  like  this. 
The  pipe  has  an  outer  surface  and  an  inner  lining. 
At  one  time  or  another  something  happened  to  injure 
and  weaken  the  former  —  disease  does  it  sometimes 

—  perhaps  it  may  have  been  a  severe  strain  or  crush- 
ing blow  on  his  chest." 

"A  big  tree  fell  on  him  early  last  winter,"  cried 
Rose,  with  sudden  enlightenment.  "His  chest  is 
so  big  and  strong  that  he  didn't  think  that  it  hurt 
him,  'cept  to  lame  him  considerable." 

"That  may  have  caused  the  trouble.  Well, 
what  happens  is  this.  The  blood  is  pumped  by  the 
heart  through  that  weakened  pipe,  and,  little  by 
little,  it  forces  the  lining  out  through  the  weakened 
spot,  making  something  like  a  bubble  filled  with 
blood.  In  time  that  might  grow  until  you  could 
actually  see  the  swelling,  and  all  the  time,  the  con- 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  137 

taining  tissue  is  getting  thinner  and  thinner.  Now 
you  can  yourself  guess  the  reason  why  he  mustn't 
do  anything  to  over-exert  his  heart.  Hard  work, 
or  great  excitement,  makes  our  hearts  beat  faster, 
and  sends  the  blood  through  that  big  artery  with 
extra  force  and  .  .  .  ' 

"The  bubble  might  .  .  .  break,"  whispered 
"Smiles,"  with  a  frightened  look  on  her  young 
face. 

"Yes.  We  call  it  a  rupture  of  the  aneurism,  and 
when  that  happens  mortal  life  ends." 

"Oh,"  she  shuddered  slightly.  "I  must  keep  him 
very  quiet,  Doctor  Mac.  I  am  strong  and  can  do 
all  the  work.  You  tell  him  that  he  mustn't  do  any- 
thing, please,  doctor." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  that  would  be  the  wisest  plan, 
Rose.  He  has  been  so  strong  and  active  all  his  life 
it  would  break  his  great  heart  to  be  tied  down  like 
an  invalid.  I'm  sure  that  he  would  be  happier  doing 
things,  even  if  as  a  result  he  didn't  live  quite  so 
long.  Don't  you  think  so,  yourself?" 

She  nodded,  and  he  continued,  "Of  course  he  is  so 
big  and  strong  he  can  do  common,  simple  tasks  with- 
out anything  like  the  amount  of  exertion  required 
by  an  ordinary  man,  and,  so  long  as  he  doesn't 
strain  himself,  or  get  very  much  excited,  we  may 
reasonably  expect  him  to  live  for  a  good  while  yet. 
Besides,  as  the  aneurism  progresses  there  will  come 
a  steady,  boring  pain  and  increased  shortness  of 
breath,  which  will  themselves  help  to  keep  him  quiet." 


138  "SMILES" 

"But  can't  I  give  him  some  medicine?" 

"The  best  medicine  that  he  can  possibly  have  will 
be  your  happy,  comforting  smile  and  tender  love, 
my  child." 

She  furtively  wiped  a  stray  tear  from  her  cheek 
and  smiled  bravely  up  into  his  face,  in  a  wordless 
pledge  that  to  the  administration  of  this  treatment 
she  would  devote  herself  without  stint. 

"May  I  ...  may  I  have  that  paper,"  she  an- 
swered appealingly,  as  he  started  to  crumple  it  up, 
preparatory  to  tossing  it  into  the  fireplace.  "We 
don't  often  have  city  papers  to  read,  you  know." 

"Why,  of  course;  I  didn't  think,"  he  answered, 
smoothing  it  out  and  handing  it  to  her.  She 
took  it  eagerly,  and  had  read  barely  a  minute 
before  she  cried,  delightedly,  "Why,  Doctor  Mac. 
You're  in  this  paper.  Oh,  did  you  read  what  it 
says?" 

"Hang  it,"  thought  Donald,  "I  forgot  all  about 
that  fool  story,  or  I  wouldn't  have  given  it  to  her." 
But  she  was  already  reading  the  brief  article  aloud, 
slowly  but  with  appreciatory  expression. 

EXCEPTIONAL  FEE  PAID  BOSTON  DOCTOR 

DR.  DONALD  MACDONALD  OPERATES  ON  MULTI- 
MILLIONAIRE'S CHILD 

What  is  rumored  to  have  been  one  of  the  biggest  fees 
paid  to  a  physician  in  recent  years,  was  received  lately 
by  the  brilliant  young  children's  specialist  of  this  city, 
Dr.  Donald  MacDonald. 


GATHERING   CLOUDS  139 

A  few  weeks  ago  he  was  summoned  to  Newport  in 
consultation  with  local  and  New  York  physicians  over  the 
five-year-old  daughter  of  J.  Bentley  Moors,  the  million- 
aire copper  king,  and  finally  saved  the  child's  life  by 
performing  successfully  one  of  the  most  difficult  oper- 
ations known  to  surgery  —  the  removal  of  a  brain  tumor. 

The  child  had  already  totally  lost  the  power  of  speech, 
and  had  sunk  into  a  comatose  state,  the  operation  being 
performed  at  Dr.  MacDonald's  suggestion  as  a  final  des- 
perate resort. 

His  associates  on  the  case  are  unstinted  in  their  praise  of 
his  skill,  and  declare  that  few  other  surgeons  in  America 
could  have  carried  it  through  with  any  hope  of  success. 

The  child  was  completely  cured,  and  in  his  gratitude 
her  father  sent  the  young  doctor  a  check  which  —  it  is 
said  —  represented  an  amount  larger  than  many  men 
earn  in  a  lifetime. 

"What  does  'comatose'  mean,  Doctor  Mac.?" 
asked  Smiles. 

"It  means  a  condition  during  which  the  body 
appears  to  be  lifeless.  A  tumor  is  a  growth  —  in 
that  particular  case  here,  inside  the  skull,  which 
pressed  on  the  child's  brain,  paralyzing,  or  shutting 
off,  all  the  senses." 

"Oh,  wasn't  it  wonderful  to  do  what  you  did  .  .  . 
it  was  almost  like  the  miracles  our  dear  Lord  per- 
formed, for  you  gave  sight  to  the  blind  and  raised 
up  one  who  was  almost  dead.  I  am  so  glad  for  that 
little  child  and  her  dear  father,  and  I  don't  wonder 
that  he  gave  you  a  lot  of  money.  Was  it  ...  was 
it  as  much  as  a  ...  a  thousand  dollars?"  she  asked 
in  an  awed  tone. 


140  "SMILES" 

"Yes,  indeed,  much  more  than  that,  in  fact." 

"Not  five  thousand?" 

Donald  laughed.  "The  newspaper  men,  who  had 
somehow  or  other  got  wind  of  the  story  —  goodness 
knows  how  —  tried  mighty  hard  to  get  me  to  tell 
them  how  much,  but  I  wouldn't.  However,  since 
I  know  that  you  can  keep  a  secret,  I  will  tell 
you.  It  was  just  ten  times  the  amount  of  your 
last  guess." 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  as  the  result  of  the  multipli- 
cation dawned  upon  her.  "Why,  it  was  a  fortune, 
and  .  .  .  and  /  know  you." 

"Of  course  it  pleased  me,"  was  his  answer,  "but 
not  half  as  much  as  the  result  of  the  operation,  dear. 
If  a  doctor  is  really  in  earnest,  and  bound  up  in  his 
work,  he  never  thinks  whether  the  little  sufferer 
stretched  before  him  in  bed,  or  on  the  operating 
table,  has  a  father  worth  a  million  dollars,  or  one  in 
the  poorhouse.  That  is  the  reason  why  we  have  to 
charge  for  our  services  by  a  different  standard  from 
men  in  almost  any  other  kind  of  work.  The  rich 
man  has  to  help  pay  for  the  poor  man,  whether  he 
wants  to  or  not.  I  meant  to  charge  that  very  rich 
man  enough  so  that  I  could  give  myself  to  a  great 
many  poor  children  without  charging  them  any- 
thing, perhaps ;  but  he  had  a  big  heart  and  sent  me 
that  check  for  several  times  what  I  should  have 
charged  without  even  waiting  for  me  to  make  out 
a  bill.  And  his  letter,  which  came  with  it,  said  that 
even  fifty  thousand  dollars  was  poor  compensation 


GATHERING   CLOUDS  141 

for  a  life  worth  more  to  him  than  all  the  money  in 
the  whole  world." 

"A  little  child's  life  is  more  precious  than  all  the 
gold  that  ever  was,"  said  Smiles  seriously,  "for 
only  God  can  give  it." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SOWING   TEE  WIND 

THE  noonday  meal  was  a  rather  quiet,  constrained 
affair.  None  of  the  three  was  in  a  talkative  mood, 
Donald  was  still  distrait,  Big  Jerry  obviously  in 
physical  and  mental  distress,  and  Rose  too  full  of 
troubled  sympathy  for  conversation.  Frequently 
Donald  caught  her  gaze  fixed  on  the  old  man's  face 
with  an  expression  of  unutterable  love ;  and  as  often, 
when  she  saw  him  watching  her,  her  face  lighted  for 
a  moment  with  a  tender,  compassionate  smile. 

The  eagerly  anticipated  vacation  and  reunion  had 
truly  begun  badly,  and  it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief 
that  Donald  finished  the  simple  dinner,  and  announced 
that  he  guessed  he  would  go  for  a  little  tramp  in  the 
woods,  while  Rose  was  performing  her  household 
tasks. 

"Hain't  yo'  ergoin'  ter  tote  yo'r  rifle-gun?"  queried 
Big  Jerry,  as  he  noticed  that  the  doctor  was  leaving 
the  house  without  a  weapon. 

"No,  not  this  trip.  I'm  not  in  a  mood  for  hunting. 
All  I  want  is  a  walk,  —  and  a  stout  club  and  Mike 
will  be  protection  enough  against  anything  in  these 
woods.  Good-by,  Smiles.  I'll  be  back  before  sup- 
per-time, hungry  as  a  bear." 

142 


SOWING  THE  WIND  143 

He  left  the  clearing  for  the  virgin  woods  at  random, 
striding  along  briskly  and  with  rising  spirits,  and 
at  first  unmindful  of  the  direction  that  he  was  taking. 

In  fact  he  had,  subconsciously  —  even  in  his  recrea- 
tion —  refused  to  follow  the  easiest  way,  and  had 
struck  out  on  the  up-mountain  trail. 

For  a  while  Donald  walked  on,  regardless  of  whither. 
Then  the  consciousness  of  the  fact  that  he  was  in 
a  —  to  him  —  unknown  part  of  the  mountain,  and 
nearing  the  summit,  brought  with  it  a  recollection 
of  the  words  spoken  that  morning  by  little  Lou, 
"  Judd  air  erway  ergin  ...  up  in  the  mountain." 

Still,  he  kept  on,  for,  although  he  told  himself  that 
he  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  seeking  the 
mountaineer,  or  the  solution  of  Smiles'  troubled 
look,  and  most  certainly  was  not  courting  trouble, 
purposeless  curiosity  impelled  him  higher  and 
higher  into  the  hitherto  unexplored  fastnesses.  Now 
the  timberlands  lay  beneath  him,  for,  although  the 
hardy  laurel  continued  in  profusion,  albeit  somewhat 
dried  and  withered,  the  trees  were  thinning  out  and 
becoming  more  scraggly,  and  more  frequently  the 
naked  rocks,  split  and  seamed,  thrust  themselves 
up  through  the  baked  soil,  "like  vertebrae  in  the  back- 
bone of  the  mountain,"  thought  Donald.  Now  they 
were  toned  and  softened  by  moss  and  lichen;  now 
barren  of  vegetation,  rugged  and  gaunt,  split  asunder 
by  the  ancient  elements.  In  the  distress  which  had 
come  like  a  cloud  over  the  sunlight  of  his  spirits, 


144 "SMILES" 

so  gayly  anticipative  a  few  hours  previous,  they  flung 
a  wordless  challenge  to  the  battling  instinct  in  the 
man,  and  he  accepted  it  with  the  thought  that  the 
best  balm  for  troubled  minds  is  strenuous  bodily 
action. 

Eager  and  joyous  over  the  new  game,  Mike  tore 
about,  panting,  and  dashing  from  side  to  side  through 
the  underbrush  on  real,  or  imaginary,  scents,  now 
stopping  to  dig  madly  for  a  moment,  then  racing  on 
to  catch  up  with  his  master,  who  frequently  had  to 
haul  him  over  the  precipitous  crags  by  the  shaggy 
hair  on  his  muscular  back. 

The  air  was  cooler  here,  and  as  invigorating  as 
wine ;  the  sky  was  a  transparent  blue. 

At  last,  somewhat  tired  of  pushing  his  way  over 
rocks  and  through  virgin  underbrush  with  no  objec- 
tive, he  was  on  the  point  of  turning  to  retrace  his 
footsteps,  when  Mike  stopped  short  with  nose  a- 
quiver  and  bristles  lifting  on  his  neck. 

"What's  up?"  asked  the  man.  As  usual  he  ad- 
dressed the  dog  as  though  he  were  a  sentient  being. 
* '  Trouble  ahead  ?  Some  wild  animal  there,  old  boy  ? ' ' 

But,  instead  of  retreating,  he  grasped  his  cudgel 
more  firmly,  and  cautiously  parted  the  thick  bushes 
in  front  of  him. 

To  his  surprise,  Donald  found  that  he  was  almost 
on  the  edge  of  a  sharp  declivity  leading  down  into  a 
natural  bowl-like  hollow,  so  shut  in  with  high  rocks 
and  underbrush  that  it  was,  in  effect,  a  retreat  almost 
as  good  as  a  cave  for  concealment.  And  that  it  was 


SOWING  THE  WIND  145 

so  used,  or  had  been  at  some  time,  was  made  evident 
by  the  presence  of  a  rude  hut,  little  more  than  a 
lean-to  since  one  end  was  wholly  open,  which  snuggled 
against  the  further  bank. 

With  growing  curiosity  and  caution,  he  worked 
his  way  along  the  edge,  for  now  a  faint  odor  of  wood- 
smoke  reached  his  nostrils,  and  there  came  to  his 
ears  the  sound  of  some  one,  or  something,  moving 
within  the  shelter,  a  presence  which  the  dog  had 
apparently  detected  much  sooner  than  had  his 
master. 

At  length  he  reached  a  point  of  vantage,  partly 
hidden  by  a  cleft  rock,  from  which  he  could  look 
fully  into  the  interior  of  the  shack.  It  was  ob- 
viously not  a  habitation,  although  a  fire  was  burning 
briskly  within  it.  Near  by  stood  a  small  keg  or 
two,  what  appeared  to  be  a  large  tub  or  vat,  and, 
over  the  fire,  was  a  queer  metal  object,  the  shape  of 
which  caused  Donald  to  wonder  for  a  brief  instant 
if  necromancy  still  existed,  and  he  had  stumbled 
upon  the  retreat  of  a  mountain  wizard.  Almost 
immediately,  however,  the  true  explanation  flashed 
through  his  mind. 

It  was  a  crude  illicit  distillery  —  the  hidden  "still" 
of  a  mountain  moonshiner !  At  the  same  moment  a 
tall  man  in  typical  mountain  costume  moved  into 
view  and  bent  over  the  fire. 

In  his  interest  Donald  had  forgotten  Mike ;  but,  at 
the  appearance  of  the  man,  his  companion  gave  voice 
to  a  sharp  and  hostile  challenge. 


146  "SMILES" 

The  furtive  toiler  turned  like  a  flash,  and,  seizing 
the  rifle  which  leaned  against  the  wall  near  at  hand, 
sprang  out  and  levelled  it  at  the  intruder  whose  head 
was  visible  above  the  rock,  for  he  had  been  too  much 
surprised  to  move. 

"Put  up  yo'r  hands ! " he  cried, and  Donald  complied 
•with  the  order  without  perceptible  hesitation,  at  the 
same  time  pushing  into  full  sight.  The  man  below 
was  Judd ! 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke,  and  the  silence  was 
pregnant  with  serious  possibilities.  Then  Donald 
regained  partial  control  of  his  shaken  self-possession, 
and  with  his  hands  still  held  above  his  head,  slid 
awkwardly  down  into  a  sitting  posture  on  the  edge 
of  the  bank. 

"Do  you  know,  Judd,"  he  remarked  at  last, 
with  an  assumption  of  coolness.  "I  thought  that 
sort  of  thing  had  ceased  to  exist,  even  in  these 
wild  mountains,"  and  he  nodded  toward  the  dis- 
tillery. 

"I  allows  thet  yo'  hev  er  habit  of  thinkin'  wrong," 
was  the  surly  response.  "You  haint  no  doctor  man. 
Thet's  er  bund.  Yo'  be  er  revenuer,  I  reckon,  an' 
es  sich  I've  got  ter  put  er  bullet  inter  ye." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  snapped  Donald,  even  in  this 
dangerous  predicament  unable  to  resort  to  concilia- 
tory words  when  addressing  Judd.  "I'm  nothing 
of  the  sort,  and  you  know  it." 

There  was  another  spell  of  nerve-racking  silence. 
Then  the  outlaw  said  slowly,  "I  reckon  yo'  speaks 


SOWING  THE  *  WIND  147 

ther  truth.  Yo'  haint  smart  ernough  fer  er  revenuer. 
One  er  them  wouldn't  come  er  still-huntin'  'thout  er 
rifle-gun,  an'  with  er  barkin'  dawg." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  that's  settled,"  answered  Donald, 
uttering  a  forced  laugh.  "My  arms  are  getting 
tired,  held  up  like  this,  and,  as  you  have  a  rule  and 
I  haven't,  I  suggest  that  I  be  allowed  to  resume  a 
more  natural  position." 

Without  waiting  for  the  permission,  he  dropped  his 
hands  to  the  bank  beside  him. 

Donald's  action  placed  Judd  in  an  obviously  un- 
pleasant dilemma.  He  knew  it,  and  therein  lay  the 
intruder's  best  chance. 

"I  haint  never  shot  er  man  in  cold  blood  erf  ore, 
but  I  reckon  I've  got  ter  do  hit  now,"  he  said  sullenly. 
"Yo'  know  too  damned  much  erbout  sartain  things 
what  don't  consarn  ye." 

"If  they  don't  concern  me  —  as  I  am  willing  to 
admit  —  why  waste  a  bullet?"  answered  Donald, 
mentally  sparring  for  time.  "As  a  law-abiding 
citizen  I  might  reasonably  feel  that  you  still  ought 
to  be  put  out  of  existence ;  but,  it's  no  hunt  of  mine, 
since  I'm  not  a  federal  officer.  I  haven't  any  par- 
ticular desire  to  get  a  bullet  through  me,  and  I  know 
perfectly  well  that  you  don't  care  for  the  thought  of 
adding  the  crime  of  murder  to  the  misdemeanor  of 
illicit  liquor  making." 

"I  haint  erfeerd  ter  shoot  ye,"  blustered  Judd, 
and  added  significantly,  "Yo're  body  wouldn't  never 
be  found,  and  yo'  wouldn't  be  ther  first  pryin'  stranger 


148  "SMILES" 

what  got  lost  in  these  hyar  hills,  and  warn't  never 
heard  of  more." 

"Admitted.  But  what's  to  be  gained  in  taking 
the  chance  ?  I'm  ready  —  yes,  anxious  —  to  give 
you  my  word  of  honor  that  I'll  forget  what  I've 
stumbled  on  here  this  afternoon.  Come,  be  reason- 
able, Judd." 

"Wall,  ef  you'll  swa'r  thet  ..."  began  the 
mountaineer  dubiously. 

"I  do,"  broke  in  Donald  with  undisguised  eager- 
ness. "I  solemnly  swear  never  to  tell  a  soul  about 
the  existence  of  this  still,  so  help  me  God.  There, 
I  hope  that  satisfies  you.  You  need  not  be  afraid 
of  my  not  keeping  my  oath,  but  just  the  same,  I 
think  you're  a  fool  to  do  this.  You're  almost  sure 
to  be  caught  at  it,  sooner  or  later,  and  a  federal  prison 
isn't  a  particularly  pleasant  place." 

"I  don't  reckerlect  hevin'  asked  any  advice  from 
yo'"  was  Judd's  surly  reply. 

"Well,  I  don't  expect  that  you'll  follow  it,"  an- 
swered the  other,  as  he  scrambled  to  his  feet.  "And 
since  we  don't  seem  to  hit  it  off  very  well  together,  I 
guess  I'll  be  starting  along." 

"No  yo'  won't  .  .  .  leastwise  not  yet!"  Judd's 
words  came  with  crisp  finality,  and  were  reinforced 
by  a  quick  movement  of  his  rifle  to  the  hip.  "I 
haint  through  with  ye  yet,  stranger.  Last  year  I 
warned  ye  fair  thet  this  hyar  mountain  war  an  on- 
healthy  place  fer  ye.  'Pears  like  yo'  didn't  believe 
hit,  but  I  means  thet  ye  should  this  time.  Erfore  yo' 


SOWING  THE  WIND  149 

goes  I'll  hear  ernother  sworn  promise  from  ye,  an'  I 
reckon  yo'  kin  guess  what  hit  air." 

"I  can.  And  you're  not  going  to  get  it.  No, 
by  God,  not  if  you  put  a  coward's  bullet  into  me  for 
refusing,"  burst  out  Donald,  with  his  pent-up  anger 
breaking  its  bounds  at  the  other's  dictatorial  demands. 
"I  agreed  that  what  you  did  with  your  time  wasn't 
my  business,  but  what  I  do  with  mine,  is.  And  I 
don't  take  orders  from  you  in  the  matter,  understand  ?  " 

The  mountaineer's  lips  drew  back,  his  body  quiv- 
ered, and  the  finger  on  the  rifle's  trigger  trembled. 

Above  him,  Donald  stood  equally  tense  and  pale. 
He  felt  that  he  should  be  praying  as  he  had  never 
prayed  before,  but  wrath  possessed  his  spirit  wholly, 
and  his  mind  was  completely  concentrated  on  that 
lean  forefinger,  whose  slightest  tension  meant  death. 
Moments  like  these  come  but  once  in  the  lifetime  of 
the  average  man,  if,  indeed,  they  ever  come  at  all; 
but,  when  they  do,  when  he  suddenly  finds  himself 
face  to  face  with  some  cataclysmic  upheaval  in  human 
or  external  nature  that  threatens  to  rend  the  thin 
but  unpenetrable  curtain  which  separates  hrm  from 
eternity,  the  salient  characteristic  of  his  being  is 
unmasked  and  stands  forth,  naked.  If  he  be  at 
heart  a  coward,  even  though  he  may  honestly  never 
have  suspected  himself  of  cowardice,  he  will  try  to 
flee,  or  cringe  and  grovel  for  mercy ;  if  his  soul  is  stayed 
upon  the  immortal  and  everlasting  truths,  he  will 
face  what  Fate  may  hold  with  the  resigned  fortitude 
which  was  the  martyrs' ;  but,  if  he  is  merely  a  man, 


150  "SMILES" 

strong  with  the  courage  of  the  beast,  refined  and 
strengthened  in  the  fires  of  intellect,  he  will  be  more 
likely  to  stand  his  ground  unflinchingly  and  cast  his 
defiance  in  the  teeth  of  the  danger  which  threatens, 
wrathful,  but  unafraid. 

Donald  was  of  the  latter  breed.  He  made  no  move ; 
but  the  cords  and  veins  hi  his  muscular  neck  and 
hands  swelled  visibly,  and  his  dark  gray  eyes  took  on 
a  steely  glint,  as  they  bored  steadily  into  Judd's 
glowering  black  ones. 

Suddenly,  with  a  deep  oath,  the  mountaineer  dropped 
the  butt  of  his  gun  to  the  ground.  Both  men  breathed 
a  deep  sigh,  and  the  latter  said  :  "No,  I  kaint  shoot 
an  unarmed  man,  even  ef  he  air  a  skunk.  But  hark 
ye.  I  warns  ye  now  fer  the  last  time.  Clar  out 
uv  this  hyar  mountain  terday,  er  go  armed  an'  ready, 
fer,  by  Gawd  A'mighty,  I  aims  ter  shoot  ye  dead  the 
next  tune  I  meets  ye.  Hit's  yo'  er  me  now." 

When  the  other  dropped  his  weapon,  Donald  had 
almost  decided  to  make  an  attempt  to  clear  the 
atmosphere  by  telling  him  again  that  his  suspicions 
were  utterly  groundless  and  that,  so  far  from  having 
any  intention  of  stealing  the  affections  of  the  moun- 
tain child  whom  Judd  loved,  he  was  betrothed  to 
another.  But,  at  the  challenge  to  fight,  something, 
which  he  could  neither  explain  afterwards  nor  control 
then,  swept  away  the  half-formed  resolve,  and  the 
heat  of  primal  hate  sent  a  burning  flush  through  him 
and  drove  cool  reason  utterly  from  its  throne. 

"If  you  didn't  have  that  gun,  you  damned  coward, 


SOWING  THE  WIND  151 

I'd  come  down  there  this  instant,  and  thrash  you 
within  an  inch  of  your  worthless  life,"  he  shouted, 
heedless  of  consequences;  too  angry  to  care  what 
might  happen.  And  simultaneously,  spurred  on  by 
his  own  blind  passion,  he  slid  down  the  bank  and, 
with  fists  clenched,  advanced  on  Judd.  A  yard  ahead 
of  him  bristled  Mike,  a  canine  fury  with  gleaming 
teeth  bared  and  muscles  tensed  for  a  spring.  His 
master's  quarrel  was  his  also. 

"Call  off  thet  damned  dawg,  ef  yo'  don't  want  fer 
him  ter  git  shot, "  raged  the  other,  white  with  anger. 
"I  reckon  thet  the  time  hes  come  fer  me  ter  teach  ye 
a  lesson ;  p'raps  then  a  rifle  bullet  won't  be  nowise 
necessary.  Yo'  tie  up  thet  devil,  an'  I'll  hev  it  out 
with  ye,  now."  Wrath  robbed  him,  too,  of  all 
caution  and  he  flung  his  gun  far  to  one  side  as  Donald, 
with  hands  that  trembled  so  violently  that  he  could 
barely  tie  the  knots,  slipped  his  handkerchief  through 
Mike's  collar  and  fastened  him  securely  to  a  stout 
bush.  Then  he  faced  the  infuriated  mountaineer. 

"Hit's  yo'  er  me,"  panted  the  latter,  assuming^ 
pantherlike  crouch. 

"Let  it  go  at  that,"  answered  the  city  man,  dropping 
naturally  into  a  fighting  position. 

The  veneer  of  our  vaunted  civilization  is,  at  the 
best,  thin,  and  every  man,  in  whose  veins  runs  red 
blood,  has  within  him  pent-up  volcanic  forces  which 
require  but  little  awakening  to  produce  a  soul- 
shattering  upheaval.  Donald  knew  that  his  being 
shouted  aloud  for  battle  —  why,  he  didn't  pause  to 


152  "SMILES" 

analyze.  Judd  knew  full  well  what  he  was  fighting 
for.  It  was  the  woman  whom  his  heart  had  claimed 
as  his  mate,  regardless  of  what  his  chances  of  winning 
her  were. 

In  college  days,  Donald  had  been  a  trained  athlete, 
and  he  was  still  exceptionally  powerful,  although  city 
life  and  his  confining  work  had  robbed  his  muscles  of 
some  of  the  flexibility  and  strength  which  had  once 
been  theirs,  and  were  now  possessed  by  those  of  his 
opponent.  In  weight,  and  knowledge  of  the  science 
of  boxing,  he  far  surpassed  Judd ;  but  these  odds  were 
evened  by  the  fact  that  his  mind  —  thoroughly 
aroused  though  it  was  —  held  only  a  desire  to  punish 
the  other  severely,  whereas  Judd's  passion  burned 
deeper ;  blood-lust  was  in  his  heart  and  he  saw  red. 
Nothing  would  satisfy  him  short  of  killing  the  man 
who  seemed  to  be  the  personification  of  his  failure 
to  win  Smiles. 

The  mountaineer  opened  the  fight  with  a  furious 
rush.  Donald  instinctively  side-stepped,  and  met  it 
with  a  jolting  short-arm  blow  to  the  other's  lean  jaw, 
which  sent  the  aggressor  to  the  ground. 

Like  a  flash  he  was  up  again,  wild  to  close  with  his 
rival  and  get  his  fingers  about  his  throat.  There; 
in  the  little  natural  amphitheatre,  with  only  the 
ancient  trees  as  silent  witnesses,  was  staged  again  the 
oft-fought  fight  between  the  boxer  and  the  battler,  but 
the  decision  was  not  to  rest  on  points.  No  Marquis 
of  Queensberry  rules  governed,  no  watchful  referee  was 
present  to  disqualify  one  or  the  other  for  unfair  tactics. 


CHAPTER  XV 

REAPING   THE  WHIRLWIND 

IT  was  not  long  before  Donald  realized  that, 
whatever  had  been  Judd's  primary  purpose,  he  was 
now  fighting  to  kill,  and  he  sought  desperately  to 
drive  home  a  blow  which  would  knock  him  out.  But, 
with  all  his  greater  skill,  it  was  not  easily  to  be  ac- 
complished. The  mountaineer  was  tough,  agile  and 
actuated  by  a  rage  which  mere  punishment  only 
increased.  And  punishment  he  took  aplenty ;  while 
Donald  remained  almost  unscathed,  as  he  met  rush 
after  rush,  and  a  storm  of  wildly  flailing  blows,  with  an 
unbroken  defence. 

Nor  was  it  long  before  the  other  realized  that  ab- 
solute necessity  called  for  him  to  break  through  that 
guard,  and  clinch  with  his  opponent,  if  he  were  to 
hope  to  be  successful  in  carrying  out  his  design. 
Gathering  his  physical  forces  for  a  final  desperate 
assault  —  which  right  and  left  hand  blows  on  his 
already  battered,  bleeding  face  could  not  check  — 
he  broke  through  Donald's  defence,  and  flung  his 
sinewy  arms  about  his  rival. 

For  a  moment  both  men  clung  desperately  to  one 
another,  their  breath  coming  in  labored  gasps. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  mountaineer  twisted  his  leg 
153 


154  "SMILES" 

about  one  of  Donald's,  catching  him  off  his  guard, 
and  they  went  heavily  to  the  ground  together. 

Whatever  had  been  the  city  man's  advantage 
when  they  were  on  their  feet,  he  shortly  discovered  that 
the  woodman's  great  agility  and  crude  skill  in  wres- 
tling gave  him  the  upper  hand  in  this  more  primitive 
method  of  combat.  Over  and  over  they  rolled, 
gasping  for  breath,  and,  although  Donald  exerted  his 
great,  but  now  rapidly  failing,  strength,  more  than 
once  he  felt  the  clutch  of  the  other's  lean,  powerful 
fingers  gripping  his  throat  and  shutting  off  his  breath, 
before  he  could  tear  them  free. 

The  end  came  suddenly. 

During  a  deadly  grapple  —  with  first  one  man, 
then  the  other,  on  top  —  Donald  called  into  play  the 
last  of  his  nervous  reserve  force,  and,  with  a  mighty 
effort,  broke  free,  and  flung  Judd  face  downward  on 
the  ground.  The  latter's  right  arm  was  extended, 
and,  grasping  the  sweaty  wrist,  he  drew  it  up  and 
back,  at  the  same  instant  crowding  his  knee  into  the 
spine  of  the  prostrate  man. 

Judd  cursed  and  wriggled  frantically;  but  only 
succeeded  in  grinding  his  battered  face  into  the  torn 
turf.  It  was  some  seconds  before  the  conqueror  could 
gain  breath  enough  to  speak.  At  last  he  panted  out, 
"Now  I've  got  you.  If  you  move  I'll  dislocate  your 
shoulder  like  this!"  An  involuntary  shriek  of  agony 
was  wrung  from  the  defeated  man's  bleeding  lips. 

"I'll  let  you  up  when 

"Oh,  ooooh!"   came  a  startled,  terrified  cry  from 


REAPING  THE  WHIRLWIND    155 

above  him.  Donald  lifted  his  eyes,  and  saw  Rose 
standing  on  the  bank  where  he  had  stood. 

For  an  instant  he  remained  as  though  turned  to 
stone,  staring  at  the  girl  with  growing  dismay. 
Finally  he  got  slowly  to  his  feet,  instinctively  gave 
partial  aid  to  Judd  as  he  too  struggled  up,  his 
burning  eyes  also  fixed  on  Smiles.  It  seemed  as 
though  the  two  dishevelled,  dirt-covered  and  bleeding 
men  typified  the  brute  in  nature,  and  stood  arraigned 
there  before  the  spirit  of  divine  justice,  for  the  slender 
girl's  white  dress,  and  no  less  white  face,  against  the 
background  of  dark  green,  made  her  appear  almost 
like  an  ethereal  being. 

Her  breast  was  rising  and  falling  rapidly  as  was 
indicated  by  the  palpitating  movement  of  her  hand 
pressed  close  against  it ;  her  lips  were  parted  and  her 
large,  shadowy  eyes  filled  with  uncomprehending 
fear  and  pain. 

"What  .  .  .  what  do  hit  mean?"  she  whispered. 

As  Judd  made  no  answer  Donald  finally  succeeded 
in  summoning  up  an  unnatural  laugh  and  lied  re- 
assuringly, "It  .  .  .  it  isn't  anything  serious,  Smiles. 
Judd  and  I  got  into  a  dispute  over  ....  over  which 
was  the  better  wrestler,  and  I  have  been  showing 
him  a  few  city  tricks." 

"Thet  air  a  lie !"  The  mountaineer's  words  lashed 
out  like  a  physical  blow,  and  the  crimson  flamed  into 
the  other's  cheeks  —  and  those  of  Smiles  as  well. 

"Hit  air  er  lie,"  he  repeated  with  a  rasping  voice, 
as  he  dashed  the  blood  and  dirt  from  his  lips.  "We 


156  "SMILES" 

war  fightin'  ter  kill,  an'  I  reckon  yo'  kin  guess  what  hit 
war  erbout,"  he  added,  flinging  the  last  words  up  at 
the  girl. 

Once  again  Donald  attempted  to  save  her  still 
greater  distress  by  a  white  lie.  "I  chanced  to  stumble 
on  his  hidden  still,  Smiles,  and  he  thought  that  I 
would  betray  him." 

"Oh,  Juddy,"  cried  the  girl  wringing  her  hands,  "I've 
been  erfeerin'  this.  In  course  I  knowed  erbout  hit, 
fer  yo'  showed  me  the  still  yerself,  but  I've  been 
worryin',  and  hit  war  ter  warn  ye  ...  ter  beg  ye 
ter  quit  fer  leetle  Lou's  sake  erfore  hit  war  too  late 
thet  I  came.  Yo'  must  quit,  oh  please,  Judd."  In 
her  eagerness  she  ran  down  the  bank  and  toward 
him.  "7  knows  thet  Doctor  Mac  wouldn't  tell,  but 
hit's  a  warnin'." 

As  though  hypnotized,  Judd  gazed  into  her  plead- 
ing face,  with  his  passion  for  her  overwhelming  that 
other  one,  which  had  so  short  a  time  before  swayed 
him.  He  stepped  to  meet  her  with  a  gesture  of 
hopelessness,  and,  realizing  that  he  was  for  the 
moment  forgotten,  Donald  moved  softly  to  the 
mountaineer's  rifle,  ejected  the  cartridges  from  the 
magazine  and  pocketed  them  unobserved. 

"I  kaint  quit,  Rose, "  answered  Judd,  looking  into 
her  face  with  a  hungry  expression.  "I  kaint  stop. 
Hit's  my  work,  an'  hit  pays  better  then  ever  hit  done. 
I  wants  ter  make  money  ...  fer  yo'.  Besides,  ef 
hit  hadn't  ha'  been  fer  the  white  liquor  what  I  sell 
ter  the  storeman  down  in  Fayville,  I  wouldn't  have 


REAPING  THE  WHIRLWIND    157 

been  able  ter  sell  yo'r  baskets  for  ye.  I  wouldn't 
hev  had  no  money  ter  give.  .  .  ." 

He  checked  his  impetuous,  unconsidered  words  too 
late.  The  girl's  quick  mind  delved  into  his  unspoken 
thought.  She  started  and  stepped  back,  crying, 
"  '  To  give?'  Judd  Amos,  war  hit  yo'  thet  paid  me 
ther  extry  price  on  them  baskets  ?  " 

Confused  and  distressed,  the  other  remained  silent 
until  she  repeated  her  question  insistently.  Then 
he  answered  pleadingly,  "I  loves  ye,  Smiles.  Yo' 
know  hit,  an'  so  does  he.  I  wanted  ter  holp  ye,  an' 
'twar  ther  only  way." 

Even  while  Donald  —  rejoicing  in  the  opportu- 
nity to  regain  his  self-possession  —  had  stood  apart 
from  the  other  two,  none  of  the  conversation  had 
escaped  him.  With  his  wrath  now  fanned  to  flame 
afresh  by  Judd's  apparent  falsehood,  he,  too,  burst 
into  hot  words  without  pausing  to  consider  the  effect 
of  them  on  the  girl,  "What?  You  dare  attempt  to 
curry  favor  with  her  by  lyingly  claiming  credit  for 
the  additional  money  her  work  brought,  you  cur? 
You  didn't  know  that  I  held  the  cards  to  call  that  out- 
rageous bluff,  too,  did  you?  You  didn't  know  that 
I  bought  every  one  of  those  baskets,  and  told  the 
storekeeper  what  price  to  pay  for  them,  did  you  ?  " 

No  sooner  had  the  anger-impelled  words  left  his 
lips  than  Donald  felt  heartily  ashamed  of  himself, 
and  wished  that  he  might  unsay  them.  Half  afraid, 
he  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  girl  to  find  his  fears 
realized.  Her  eyes  were  flaming  from  her  deathly 


158  "SMILES" 

white  face,  and  a  mingled  look  of  hurt  pride  and  bitter 
scorn  struggled  for  supremacy  on  her  lips. 

"Yo'  .  .  .  yo'  think  I  would  accept  yo'r  charity?" 
she  cried.  "Yo'  think  I  would  take  money  gifts 
from  any  man?  I  allows  ter  pay  ye  both  every  cent 
uv  thet  money;  and  I  hates  ye  ...  I  hates  ye 
both." 

For  an  instant  she  stood  trembling  with  anger  and 
mortification,  then  turned  and  sped  up  the  bank  and 
away  into  the  woods. 

Judd  sank  down  with  a  muffled  groan,  but  Donald, 
shocked  at  the  result  of  his  ill-advised  and  hasty  words, 
forgot  his  late  adversary  and  sprang  in  pursuit,  cry- 
ing, "Smiles.  Dear  child,  wait.  I  want  to  talk  with 
you,  to  explain.  ..." 

He  ran  over  rock  and  crag  blunderingly  into  the 
forest  in  the  direction  she  had  taken,  and,  as  he 
disappeared,  Mike,  who,  during  the  combat,  had 
continually  raged  at  his  leash  in  futile  frenzy,  made  a 
last  desperate  effort,  snapped  the  leather  collar,  al- 
though the  effort  drew  a  yelp  of  pain  from  him,  and 
tore  after  him. 

He  passed  his  master  and  overtook  the  fleeing  girl, 
sagaciously  sensing  the  situation ;  but,  as  she  paid  no 
heed  to  his  appealing  barks  and  tugs  at  her  skirt,  but 
merely  ran  the  faster,  he  turned  back  to  await  his 
lord.  Body-weary  and  discomforted,  Donald  likewise 
gave  up  the  chase  as  the  sound  of  Smiles'  flight  grew 
more  distant  and  died  away. 

Eventually   she   too   dropped    into   a  walk,  and 


REAPING  THE  WHIRLWIND    159 

finally  stopped  altogether,  with  a  deep,  gasping 
sob.  Throwing  herself  down  at  the  foot  of  an  ancient 
tree,  she  pressed  her  flushed  face  hard  against  the  rough 
bark,  her  mind  in  a  wretched  turmoil. 

For  the  first  time  in  Smiles'  young  life  her  eyes  had 
been  opened,  and  she  had  looked  upon  the  brute 
passions  of  men,  had  tasted  the  bitter  gall  of  trust 
abused,  had  felt  an  anger  which  brought  with  it  the 
desire  to  hurt  another  as  she  herself  had  been  hurt. 

Stabbed  to  the  quick  of  her  soul,  she  lay  on  the  moss- 
bedded  roots  of  the  impassive  tree,  her  body  quivering 
with  soundless,  shuddering  sobs. 

She  hated  herself,  the  two  men  —  and  Judd  less  than 
Donald,  for  she  had  known  and  excused  his  short- 
comings, while  in  her  childish  eyes  Dr.  MacDonald 
had  been  all  that  was  noble,  a  superman,  an  idol 
whose  feet  were  now  clay.  She  hated  the  world  where 
such  things  were  possible. 

For  a  long  time  Rose  lay  as  she  had  fallen,  hardly 
moving,  and  when  —  pale  and  dry-eyed  —  she  did 
arise  to  return  to  the  cabin  through  the  twilight 
shadows,  something  beautiful,  but  indefinable,  which 
had  gone  to  make  up  the  fresh,  childlike  charm  of 
her  face,  had  vanished. 

Meanwhile,  Donald  walked  heavily  on  with  bowed 
head,  heedless  of  the  direction  he  took.  The  sound 
of  rushing  waters  finally  struck  upon  his  ear,  and  his 
heated,  dirt-covered  body  turned  instinctively  in 
their  direction.  A  few  minutes  brought  him  to  the 
river  at  a  point  where  it  tore  through  a  narrow  ravine 


160  "SMILES" 

of  rock,  in  dashing  cataract  and  noisy  rapid.  Donald, 
with  increasing  lameness,  made  his  way  painfully 
along  the  craggy  bank  until  it  descended  to  the  river's 
edge,  and,  kneeling  beside  the  leaping  waters,  he 
plunged  his  bruised,  aching  hands  and  face  into  them 
gratefully. 

As  he  stood  up  again  at  last,  his  ears  caught  faintly 
above  the  river's  tumult  the  distant  crack  of  a  rule, 
followed  immediately  by  another  sound  nearer  at 
hand  on  the  bank  above  him. 

It  was  the  agonized  yelp  of  pain  from  a  dog. 
Donald  sprang  erect,  his  heart  seeming  to  lift  with  a 
convulsive  action,  and  crowd  his  throat.  He  well 
knew  that  canine  cry,  now  filled  with  mortal  agony. 

Almost  blind  with  reborn  rage  and  fear,  Donald 
sprang  up  the  steep  bank,  scrambling,  stumbling, 
heedless  of  boughs  which  lashed  across  his  face,  and 
rocks  which  bruised  his  legs.  He  reached  the  top, 
and,  parting  the  bushes,  found  what  he  had  sought  — 
and  feared  to  find.  On  the  stubbly  grass  lay  little 
Mike,  whining  and  biting  at  a  spot  on  his  side  where 
the  tawny  hair  was  already  matted  and  dark  with 
flowing  blood. 

Made  speechless  by  the  clutching  pressure  in  his 
throat,  and  suddenly  dizzy  from  a  mist  which  rose 
before  his  eyes,  the  man  bent  and  lifted  the  panting 
animal  —  his  bosom  friend  and  faithful  companion 
through  many  days  and  nights — in  his  trembling  arms. 

Mike  painfully  turned  his  head  and  licked  his 
master's  drawn  face.  The  next  instant  came  the 


sound  of  crashing  underbrush,  and,  through  vistas, 
Donald  saw  a  man  approaching  them  on  a  lumbering 
run.  It  was  Big  Jerry.  His  beard  and  clothing 
were  dishevelled,  and,  as  he  drew  near,  his  deep, 
gasping  breaths  became  audible.  From  his  ghastly 
gray  and  working  face  his  deep  eyes  looked  forth  with 
an  expression  which  spelt  pain  of  body  and  wrack  of 
mind. 

Donald  stood  up,  with  the  dog  clasped  to  his  breast, 
and  a  terrible  expression  on  his  countenance. 

"Mike  .  .  .  my  friend  .  .  .  shot  ...  he  is  dy- 
ing," came  his  words,  in  an  unnatural  voice. 
"God  have  mercy  on  the  man  who  did  it.  I  shall 
not!" 

The  giant's  frame  seemed  to  collapse  visibly ;  two 
big  tears  started  from  his  eyes  and  ran  down  the 
furrows  of  his  cheeks  as  he  moved  closer  and  laid  his 
big,  shaking  hand  on  the  dog's  head. 

"7  done  hit,"  he  answered  dully. 

Mike  licked  the  wrinkled  hand  which  moved  in 
slow  caress  over  his  jaws. 

"You?"  whispered  Donald  in  amazed  unbelief. 

"Gawd  help  me,  yes.  I  shot  him  ...  I  wish  hit 
bed  er  been  myself,"  returned  the  old  man,  between 
breaths  which  came  in  deep,  body-shaking  gasps. 

Slowly  the  doctor  bent,  laid  his  chum  back  on  the 
ground,  and  knelt  beside  him  until  the  fast  glazing 
eyes  —  which  never  wavered  from  his  —  closed  for- 
ever, and  the  pain-tortured  little  body  lay  still.  Big 
Jerry,  too,  sank  down  and  dropped  his  massive  head 


162  "SMILES" 

onto  his  hands,  while  his  frame  rose  and  fell  with  con- 
vulsive heaving. 

"Hit  war  this  erway,"  he  began  to  speak  at  last, 
and  told  his  story  in  broken,  laboring  sentences. 
"I  war  erhuntin'  with  .  .  .  with  yo'r  rifle-gun 
in  the  woods  thar  beyond  ther  ravine.  Jest  es  I 
war  startin'  fer  the  cabin,  I  seen  ...  I  seen  a  man 
erstandin'  hyar  on  the  bank,  er  peerin'  down  towards 
the  river,  thar.  I  looked  whar  he  war  erlookin', 
an'  seen  ye  down  thar,  bathin'  yo'r  face  in  ther  water. 
The  man  war  ertotin'  a  rifle-gun,  an'  uv  a  sudden  he 
drapped  ter  his  knee  an'  raised  hit,  an'  I  knowed  he 
war  kalkerlatin'  ter  shoot  ye. 

"I  tried  fer  ter  shout,  ter  cry  out  a  warnin'  ter  ye, 
but  my  voice  hed  somehow  lost  hits  power,  an' 
wouldn't  kerry  above  the  noise  of  the  falls.  Thar 
war  but  one  thing  fer  ter  do,  an'  hit  called  fer  powerful 
quick  action. 

"Yo'  war  my  foster-son,  an'  ef  'twar  yo'r  life  er 
his'n  I  allowed  I  knowed  whar  my  duty  lay.  But 
I  didn't  aim  fer  ter  kill  him.  ...  I  wish  ter  Gawd 
I  hed.  'Taint  boastin'  none  fer  me  ter  say  ter  ye  thet 
I  aimed  only  fer  ter  shoot  the  arm  what  war  holdin' 
the  gun. 

"In  course  hit  takes  time  fer  ter  tell  ye  all  this,  but 
I  acted  like  I  thought.  Then  .  .  ."he  paused,  and 
went  on  only  with  a  supreme  effort,  "then,  jest  as 
I  started  the  trigger-pull,  I  seen  ...  I  seen  leetle 
Mike  spring  out  o'  the  bushes  straight  at  ...  at 
the  man.  I  seen  him,  I  tells  ye,  erfore  I  fired.  My 


REAPING  THE  ;  WHIRLWIND    163 

mind  told  me  not  ter  pull  thet  trigger,  an'  ...  an' 
I  done  hit.  My  aim  war  true,  but  .  .  .  .  "  he 
stopped  altogether. 

"The  man,"  asked  Donald  at  length,  through 
clenched  teeth.  "What  happened  to  him?" 

"He  turned  et  the  crack  of  my  gun.  He  ...  he 
seen  me,  and  run  oft"  inter  the  wood  thar." 

There  ensued  a  long  silence.  Then  Donald's  hand 
stretched  out  and  grasped  that  of  the  sorrowing  giant. 

"Jerry,"  he  said  steadily.  "Don't  feel  so  bad,  it 
wasn't  your  fault.  You  did  all  that  man  could  do. 
You  were  trying  to  ...  to  save  my  life,  just  as 
...  as  Mike  was,  God  bless  the  little  dog.  He 
must  have  realized  that  Judd  was  following  me  by 
the  exercise  of  a  sense  beyond  our  knowledge,  and 
rushed  back  to  attack  him  —  for  my  sake." 

"Yo'  said  .  .  .  yo'  said  .  .  .  'Judd.'  How  did 
yo'  come  ter  know  'twar  him?" 

With  new  and  deepened  remorse,  Donald  sadly 
outlined  the  chief  incidents  of  the  quarrel,  without, 
however,  mentioning  the  discovery  of  the  still,  or 
the  immediate  cause  of  the  combat. 

"Gawd  help  us  all  ef  er  new  feud  hes  broken  out 
hyar,"  said  Jerry  solemnly,  as  he  finished.  "But 
yo'  air  my  friend,  enjyin'  ther  hospitality  of  my 
roof,  an'  from  this  day  Judd  Amos  air  my  mortal 
enemy,  even  though  he  be  my  next  neighbor." 

Donald  sadly  removed  his  coat,  and,  wrapping  it 
around  the  body  of  his  chum,  arose,  and  the  silent, 
painful  journey  home  was  begun. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  AFTERMATH 

SUPPER  was  over.  With  kindly  hands  night  had 
laid  her  deep  purple  mantle  over  the  new-made  mound 
back  of  the  cabin,  hiding  it  from  the  grieving  gaze 
of  the  three  who  sat  before  the  door  in  painful  silence 
beneath  the  star-pierced  dome  of  heaven.  In  the 
poignancy  of  her  own  sorrow,  and  her  overwhelming 
sympathy  for  Donald,  when  she  had  come  to  a  reali- 
zation of  the  meaning  of  the  bundle  which  he  brought 
out  of  the  woods  and  laid  so  tenderly  down  on  the  grass 
before  the  cabin's  stoop,  every  vestige  of  Smiles' 
anger  had  instantly  vanished. 

"Oh,  the  pity,  the  uselessness  of  it,"  cried  Donald's 
heart,  as  his  thoughts  again  and  again  turned  back 
to  the  tragic  series  of  events  which  had  made  the 
afternoon  a  thing  of  horror.  The  bitter  culmina- 
tion, —  the  death  of  Mike,  poor,  courageous,  self- 
sacrificing  little  Mike  —  was  the  most  needless  of  all, 
for,  although  he  had  not  mentioned  the  fact  to  Big 
Jerry,  Donald  knew  that  in  all  human  probability 
Judd's  rifle  was  empty  of  cartridges.  And,  al- 
though Jerry  himself  uttered  no  word  of  complaint, 
the  physician  knew,  only  too  well,  that  the  gripping 
excitement,  against  which  he  had  warned  the  old 

164 


THE  AFTERMATH  165 

man  only  a  few  hours  earlier,  had  brought  its  in- 
evitable aftermath.  The  giant's  breath  came  with 
labored,  audible  gasps,  and  his  very  appearance  told 
the  story  of  the  increased  pain  within  his  breast. 
For  these  disasters  —  as  well  as  the  mortal  enmity 
of  the  young  mountaineer  and  the  heart-ache  of  the 
innocent  girl  —  he,  and  he  alone,  was  to  blame. 
Donald  groaned  under  his  breath. 

The  silence  was  finally  ended  by  Smiles  crying  out 
bitterly,  "Oh,  Doctor  Mac,  I  can't  understand  why 
grandfather  pulled  that  trigger,  and  shot  dear  little 
Mike.  He  saw  him  spring  at  Judd." 

"It  wasn't  in  any  wise  his  fault,  dear  heart.  He 
could  not  possibly  have  helped  it.  You  see  our  brains 
are  telegraph  stations  from  which  the  nerves  run  like 
wires,  carrying  messages  to  all  the  different  parts  of 
our  bodies.  Big  Jerry  had  sent  a  command  to  his 
finger,  ordering  it  to  pull  the  trigger,  and  the  muscles 
had  started  to  obey.  The  second  message  counter- 
manding the  first  —  quick  as  it  was  —  came  too  late 
to  halt  the  purely  muscular  action ;  that  is  all." 

"Another  good  evening,  my  friends,"  came  a 
cheery  voice,  and  the  mountain  minister  approached 
out  of  the  shadows,  and  joined  them.  "I  am  just 
back  from  a  journey  into  the  wilderness,  like  John 
the  Baptist's,  and  .  .  .  Why,  what's  wrong  ?  Do  I 
see  the  ghost  of  a  sorrow  sitting  amid  this  group, 
which  should  be  so  happy?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Talmadge,"  cried  Rose,  jumping  up  and 
stepping  to  his  side  as  he  paused.  "Many  ghosts  are 


166  "SMILES" 


here  to-night.  I  think  that  you  took  God  away  with 
you  on  your  journey,  for  His  spirit  has  not  been  in 
Webb's  Gap  this  afternoon." 

"Tell  me,  what  has  happened,  my  dear?"  he  an- 
swered quietly,  as  he  seated  himself  within  the  circle. 

Then,  step  by  step,  the  whole  unhappy  story  was 
haltingly  poured  into  his  ears,  save  only  that  Smiles 
consciously  refrained  from  mentioning  the  cause  which 
Judd  had  —  by  implication  —  given  for  the  quarrel 
and  Donald  kept  his  promise  and  made  no  allusion 
to  his  finding  of  the  still.  Since  the  minister  asked 
no  questions  and  made  no  comment  concerning  the 
cause,  it  is  fair  to  assume  that  he  guessed  the  truth 
and  wisely  held  his  own  counsel.  When  he  had 
brought  the  patchwork  recital  to  an  end,  the  doctor 
laughed  with  a  bitter  note. 

"You  see  how  much  good  the  brief  glimpse  which  I 
had  last  night  of  the  eternal  light  did  me !  Before 
one  full  day  has  ekpsed,  I  sound  a  lower  depth  in 
primitive,  brutal  passion  then  I  ever  had  before  in 
my  life.  I  am  sick  at  heart  when  I  think  how  quickly 
and  easily  I  could  forget  everything  which  goes  to 
make  up  civilization.  There  was  no  excuse  for  it  — 
that's  the  worst  part.  I  was  infinitely  more  to  blame 
than  Judd,  even  leaving  out  of  consideration  the  fact 
that  a  greater  degree  of  self-restraint  and  forbear- 
ance should  reasonably  have  been  expected  of  me,  a 
city -bred  man,  than  of  him,  a  more  primitive  son  of 
the  hills." 

Donald  placed  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  buried 


THE  AFTERMATH  167 

his  face  in  his  hands  with  a  stifled  sound,  which  might 
have  been  groan  or  curse,  and  very  gently  Smiles' 
hand  stole  up  in  the  darkness  and  stroked  his  tum- 
bled hair,  until  the  man's  own  fumblingly  sought 
and  held  it  close,  to  find  mute  comfort  in  her  warm 
clasp. 

"Perhaps  I  understand  better  than  you  think  the 
reasons  which  underlie  these  most  unhappy  events," 
answered  the  old  man  slowly.  There  was  no  rebuke 
in  his  quiet  voice. 

"Although  it  is  true,  doctor,  that  the  deeper  we 
get  into  the  heart  of  primal  nature,  the  closer  we  get 
to  the  heart  of  nature's  God,  it  is  equally  true  that 
the  nearer  we  also  get  to  the  primal  in  man. 

"I  cannot  help  feeling  that  the  city's  laws  and 
conventions  trammel  the  spirit  in  its  free  exercise 
of  self,  which  is  ill ;  but  yet  the  inbred  realization  of 
those  very  laws  and  conventions,  and  the  fear  of 
consequences  if  they  are  broken,  act  as  a  salutary 
check  on  the  primitive  passions  inherited  by  every 
one  of  us  from  our  savage  ancestors. 

"Of  course,  I  know  that,  in  places  where  men  are 
crowded  together,  such  man-made  laws  and  con- 
ventions are  wise  and  necessary;  but  the  life  which 
results  is  not  —  cannot  be  —  full  and  natural  as 
it  may  be  in  an  isolated  place  like  this,  when  honest 
obedience  is  paid  to  the  still  higher  laws  of  God  — 
and  it  is  for  that  obedience  which  all  of  us  must  strive 
constantly. 

"You  failed  in  the  test  to-day;  but,  believe  me, 


168  "SMILES'* 

there  are  many  in  these  mountains  who,  lacking  all 
the  advantages  of  training  and  education  which  are 
yours,  meet  it.  Their  lives  are  lived  under  nature's 
higher  laws  in  perfect  sincerity,  and,  although  they 
might  not  conform  to  the  standards  of  so-called 
civilization,  they  are  surely  purer  in  God's  sight  than 
those  of  millions  who  pattern  theirs  by  printed  pre- 
cept." 

"I  reckon,"  murmured  Smiles,  "that  St.  Peter 
had  to  put  many  black  marks  on  three  books  to-day 
.  .  .  yes,  mine  too,  for  I  was  wickedly  angry.  It 
was  hate  that  made  me  run  away  from  Doctor  Mac, 
and  if  I  hadn't  done  it,  M  .  .  M  .  .  .  Mike 
wouldn't  have  been  shot."  She  leaned  her  head 
against  Donald's  arm,  and  cried  softly. 

"  'The  wages  of  sin  is  death,'"  said  the  minister. 
"And  he  paid  the  penalty  for  you,  Dr.  MacDonald, 
sacrificing  himself  because  of  his  great  love.  Poor 
little  Mike.  Such  faithful  animals  as  he  must  have 
souls,  and  his  is  now  in  its  own  paradise." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  little,  and  then  Mr.  Talmadge 
continued  to  muse  aloud. 

"Mere  repentance,  such  as  the  doctor  now  feels, 
is  not  enough.  You  remember  the  parable  of  the 
woman  who  drove  the  evil  spirit  from  her  fleshly 
temple,  and  swept  it  clean,  but  failed  to  fill  its  place 
with  another  guest,  and  seven  other  devils  came  and 
repossessed  it?  So  it  is  always  with  human  life, 
Dr.  MacDonald.  Nature  abhors  a  vacuum,  and  so 
does  the  spirit.  If  a  man  does  not  fill  his  soul — swept 


THE  AFTERMATH  169 

free  of  past  evil  by  repentance  —  with  that  which 
is  actively  good,  the  repentance  is  of  little  avail." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  can  readily  understand  that,  for  it  has 
a  parallel  in  bodily  illness,"  answered  Donald,  some- 
what impatiently.  "We  all  know  that,  when  the  sick 
physical  being  is  freed  of  its  disease,  it  is  left  weak  and 
an  easy  prey  for  new  troubles.  We  can  bring  back 
to  it  the  strength  to  resist  by  giving  nerve-  and 
tissue-building  food  and  tonics,  but  how  is  the  spirit 
to  be  .  .  ." 

"How  persistently  the  earth-man  kicks  against  the 
pricks,"  cried  Mr.  Talmadge.  "Child,  your  friend 
will  not  lift  his  eyes  from  the  maze  of  doubt.  You 
pledged  yourself  to  help  him.  Help  him  now." 

Her  face  suddenly  glowing  with  light,  Rose  turned 
to  Donald  eagerly,  and  said  without  hesitation, 
"Oh,  Doctor  Mac,  don't  you  see?  The  answer  is  so 
clear,  so  simple  that  even  I  know  it.  The  dear  God 
spirit  is  everywhere,  just  waiting  for  you  to  call  it 
to  your  aid.  Please  pray  to  Him  to  give  you  new 
strength  so  that  you  may  not  be  weak  again,  and  I 
will  pray,  too." 

"Yes,"  supplemented  the  minister,  "'Whence 
cometh  my  help?  My  help  cometh  even  from  the 
Lord,  which  hath  made  heaven  and  earth.'" 

Donald  was  strongly  moved  at  the  eager  interest  in 
him  which  these  two  displayed.  Shifting  uncom- 
fortably he  replied,  "I  need  His  help,  I  know;  but 
.  .  .  but  I  guess  I  have  forgotten  how  to  pray  for 
it." 


170  "SMILES" 


"Open  your  heart  with  sincerity,  and  He  will  enter 
and  bestow  the  strength  you  need  in  order  to  take 
up  your  task  anew,  and  carry  on  until  your  purpose 
here  on  earth  has  been  accomplished.  That  is  all 
that  prayer  need  be,  for  He  is  ever  more  ready  to  give 
than  we  to  receive.  Verbal  petitions  are  vain  and 
empty  things;  honest  communion  with  Him  is 
prayer." 

He  arose,  content  to  say  no  more,  and  to  leave  the 
sorely  troubled  spirit  of  the  stranger  to  Smiles'  tender 
ministrations.  "I  am  deeply  sorry  for  you  in  your 
distress,  Dr.  MacDonald,  but  although  there  is  small 
comfort  in  the  remark,  I  cannot  help  but  feel  that 
what  has  happened  was  ordained  to  complete  your 
lesson,  so  that  you  may  leave  these  hills  with  a 
new  understanding  and  higher  purpose  in  life.  Good 
night,  and  God  be  with  you  all." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  PARTING   PLEDGE  AND  PASSING  DAYS 

"DOCTOR  MAC.,"  began  Smiles  timidly,  at  length. 
"I'm  sorry  for  what  I  said  to  you  this  afternoon,  and 
I  want  to  take  it  back.  I  guess  when  you're  angry 
you  don't  see  things  as  they  are,  and  I'm  sure  that 
you  were  only  being  very,  very  kind  to  me  when  you 
.  .  .  you  bought  those  baskets.  I  love  you  for 
it,  really  I  do,  and  if  ...  if  you  want  me  to  keep  the 
money,  and  it  would  hurt  your  feelings  if  I  .  .  . " 

"Of  course  I  want  you  to  keep  it,  dear.  Yester- 
day you  took  me  for  a  foster-brother,  and  I  hope 
that  you  will  always  let  me  do  for  you  as  I  would  for 
a  real  flesh-and-blood  sister." 

"I  promise,  and  I  will  always  do  the  same  for  you  if 
I  can,  dear  Don,"  she  whispered  softly,  adding,  "but 
somehow  to-night  —  oh  please  don't  laugh  at  me 
now  —  somehow  to-night  I  feel  more  like  .  .  .  like 
a  mother,  than  a  sister  to  you." 

"And  I  truly  think  you  are  —  a  spiritual  mother, 
little  woman.  I  need  you  much  more  than  you  need 
me,  I  guess." 

"Do  you  know,"  he  went  on,  after  a  moment,  "I 
am  beginning  to  believe  that  I  was  wrong  this  after- 
noon when  I  said  that  .  .  .  that  Judd  lied  about 

171 


172  "SMILES" 


adding  to  the  money  he  received  for  your  baskets. 
Of  course  I  have  no  way  of  making  sure,  unless  you 
have  kept  accounts,  but  I  actually  begin  to  think 
that  he  did." 

"I  know  it,"  she  replied  promptly;  but  with  a 
troubled  voice.  "Judd  has  been  very  wicked,  but 
he  doesn't  lie.  I  think  that  he  meant  it  the  way  .  .  . 
the  way  you  did,  too ;  but  he's  different  and  I  mean 
to  give  it  all  back  to  him."  There  was  another  pause, 
and  then  Smiles  said  gently,  "Donald,  it  makes  my 
heart  ache  like,  to  tell  you  this,  but  I've  got  to  now. 
I  want  that  you  should  go  away  early  to-morrow 
morning." 

"What?"  he  burst  out  angrily,  springing  to  his 
feet.  "And  have  him  believe  that  I  ran  away  from 
him  again?  No,  how  can  you  ask  it,  Rose?" 

"It  isn't  that.  We  know,  and  he  knows  now,  that 
you're  not  afraid  of  him.  But  this  mountain  is  his 
home,  and,  if  you  stay  here,  there  is  sure  to  be  more 
trouble,  and  I  couldn't  bear  that,  Don.  Even  if 
one  of  you  wasn't  .  .  .  wasn't  hurt  in  the  body, 
wicked  thoughts  would  hurt  your  souls.  I  know  it 
is  so,  and  you  must  go  ...  but,  oh,  how  I  am  going 
to  miss  you." 

For  a  moment  Donald  stood  tense ;  then  his  body 
relaxed  weakly  and  he  answered,  "Yes,  you  are 
right,  Smiles.  It  is  up  to  me  to  go ;  but  I  know  that 
some  day  these  clouds  are  going  to  be  lifted  somehow, 
and  we  shall  see  each  other  again  and  be  happy 
together." 


THE  PARTING  PLEDGE         173 

"I  know  it,  too,"  she  answered,  with  a  sob  catch- 
ing her  breath.  As  she  spoke,  the  clouds,  which  had 
been  covering  the  moon  for  some  time,  broke,  letting 
the  cool,  white  light  flood  the  mountain  side  like  a 
promise,  and  her  face  lit  up  with  the  old  wondrous 
smile.  "  Of  course  we  will,  "she  cried.  "Why,  I  mean 
to  be  your  own  special  nurse  some  day,  and  help 
you  always.  Good-night,  dear  Don." 

She  turned  and  ran  quickly  into  the  cabin,  so 
that  he  should  not  see  the  tears  which  followed  the 
smile. 

"Rose  war  right  erbout  yo'r  goin',  —  I  reckon 
she  air  allus  right,"  came  Big  Jerry's  voice.  "Yo* 
hev  got  ter  go ;  but  I'm  ergoin'  ter  miss  ye  powerful, 
likewise,  lad." 

"But  I'll  see  you  again,  too,  before  long.  I've 
got  some  of  my  sense  back,  and  I  mean  to  write 
Judd  that  I  am  engaged  to  a  girl  in  the  city  —  not 
that  I  want  his  friendship  after  what  has  happened, 
however  —  and  I  will  be  down  here  again,  for  a 
few  days  at  least,  when  the  atmosphere  has  cleared  — 
perhaps  early  this  winter." 

"Taint  likely  yo'll  ever  see  me  ergin  on  earth, 
son,"  Jerry  said  heavily.  "  Reckon  I'm  most  done  fer." 

"Your  heart?     Is  it  very  bad?"  queried  Donald. 

"I  allows  hit's  nigh  ter  bustin',"  was  the  steady 
response.  "But  mebbe  I'll  last  some  while  yet  — 
I  hopes  so,  fer  leetle  Smiles'  sake.  I  haint  blind 
ter  what  hes  happened,  an'  I  knows  thet  the  time 
air  comin'  when  she's  es  plumb  sartain  ter  fly  erway 


174    "SMILES" ^_^ 

from  this  hyar  mountain  es  a  homein'  dove;  fer 
she  hes  heard  the  call  uv  her  city  blood,  an'  hit  haint 
ter  be  denied.  But  I  reckon  she  haint  ready  ter 
leave  the  old  nest  yet,  so  I  aims  ter  stay  on  erwhile 
longer  ...  fer  her,  though  hit  haint  goin'  ter  be 
hi  no  wise  easy  fer  ter  do." 

The  younger  man  knew  not  what  answer  to  make 
to  this  affecting  declaration;  but  the  necessity  of  a 
reply  was  forestalled,  for  Big  Jerry  stepped  closer 
and  continued  earnestly,  "Since  yo'  wished  fer  ter 
be  a  son  ter  me,  I  air  ergoin'  ter  treat  ye  es  sich,  an* 
tell  ye  something  thet  I've  done  fer  the  leetle  gal, 
an'  thet  she  don't  yet  know  erbout. 

"Back  in  the  spring  when  I  seen  thet  her  mind  war 
made  up  ter  be  a  nurse,  an'  I  knowed  thet  my  own 
time  war  comin',  I  sold  the  timber  rights  ter  these 
hyar  woods  ter  a  city  lumber  company  fer  a  thousand 
dollars.  They  haint  ergoin'  ter  cut  fer  some  years 
yet,  an'  by  thet  time  I  won't  be  hyar  ter  grieve,  an' 
Smiles  won't  neither. 

"Thet  money,  an'  a  leetle  more  what  I  hev  saved, 
air  ter  be  hern  .  .  .  hit's  in  er  savin'  bank  down  ter 
the  city  now.  But  thet  haint  all  I  wants  ye  ter 
know.  The  reverend  drawed  a  last  will  an'  testiment 
fer  me,  leavin'  this  hyar  land  ter  her  —  she  haint 
blood  kin  of  mine,  yo'  know,  nor  adopted  by  law  — • 
an'  I  reckons  hit  will  be  val'able  some  day,  fer  a 
city  stranger  told  me  oncet  thet  thar's  coal  on  hit. 
So  my  leetle  gal  haint  ergoin'  ter  start  her  new  life 
penniless,  an'  .  .  .  an'  now  I  wants  ter  name  ye  ter 


THE  PARTING  PLEDGE         175 

be  her  guardeen  till  she  air  growed  up.  I  hopes  yo'll 
accept  ther  charge,  fer  I  trusts  ye,  son." 

"Accept?  Indeed  I  will,  and  it  makes  me  mighty 
happy  to  realize  that  I  mean  something  to  both  of 
you.  I've  been  playing  that  she  was  my  sister, 
but  now  she  will  really  be  as  much  to  me  as  though 
she  were." 

The  two  men  clasped  hands  again  in  full  under- 
standing, and  as  a  symbol  of  a  trust  bestowed  and 
accepted. 


At  sunrise  the  following  morning  Donald  once 
more  turned  his  face  toward  the  valley,  whence  he 
had  climbed  lightheartedly  less  than  two  days  pre- 
vious. He  had  come  with  a  beloved  companion. 
He  went  alone,  save  for  crowding  memories  —  some 
bright,  but  far  more  black  as  storm-clouds  and 
shot  with  malignant  flashes  of  lightning. 

His  vacation  —  a  travesty  on  the  name  —  was 
ended;  the  castle  which  his  dreams  had  built  on 
this  remote  mountain  was  a  shattered  ruin.  Yet, 
through  the  dark  series  of  crowding  events,  ran  a 
fine  thread  of  gleaming  gold,  and  Donald  felt  that 
it  had  not  been  broken  by  his  departure.  No,  it 
was  spun  by  Destiny  to  stretch  on  and  on  into  the 
unseen  future,  at  once  for  him  a  guide-line  to  a 
higher  manhood,  and  a  tie  binding  his  life  to  that  of 
the  girl  whose  pathway  —  starting  so  far  removed 
from  his  —  had  so  strangely  converged  with  it. 


176  "SMILES" 

To  continue  his  hunting  trip  in  another  location, 
with  Mike  no  longer  his  companion  in  it,  was  un- 
thinkable. The  empty  spaces  made  the  void  in  his 
heart  unbearable,  and  he  at  once  returned  to  Boston 
and  joined  his  family  at  their  summer  home,  to  their 
amazement  and  delight. 

But  the  man  now  returned  to  them  after  little 
more  than  a  week's  absence  was  vastly  different 
from  the  one  who  had  left.  All  marked  the  alteration 
in  him,  and  over  and  over  in  family  council  tried, 
vainly,  to  account  for  it,  for  Donald  had  withheld 
far  more  than  he  told  of  his  experiences,  and  mini- 
mized what  he  did  tell. 

But  he  knew,  as  well  as  they,  that  a  new  chord  had 
been  struck  within  him,  and  by  its  vibrations  his 
whole  life  was  being  tuned  anew.  Something  of 
the  old  boyishness  and  impetuosity  was  gone,  a 
new  purposefulness  —  not  of  the  will  but  rather 
of  the  spirit  —  had  supplanted  it  and  engendered 
an  unwonted  serenity.  Was  it  born  of  the  words 
of  the  strange  mountain  prophet,  or  the  impelling 
appeal  of  the  no-less-strange  mountain  child,  whose 
mysterious  smile,  though  seen  less  frequently  than 
on  his  first  visit,  still  cast  a  spell  over  his  senses,  even 
in  memory?  He  could  not  say. 

Whatever  uncertainties  had  disturbed  his  heart 
before,  when  his  thoughts  had  turned  upon  her,  none 
now  remained.  The  die  was  cast.  Smiles  had 
made  her  place  in  his  life,  and  would  always  occupy 
it,  but  merely  as  a  dear  charge  and  comrade.  Half- 


THE  PARTING  PLEDGE        177 

child,  half-woman,  she  still  appealed  to  him  in  both 
capacities  as  perhaps  none  other  ever  had;  yet  he 
could  now  admit  that  fact  frankly,  and  at  the  same 
time  tell  himself  that  there  was,  there  could  be, 
nothing  else. 

With  the  mists  of  uncertainty  dispelled,  and  his 
mind  purged  of  the  passions  which  had,  so  unexpect- 
edly, possessed  it,  Donald's  life  returned  to  its  old 
ruts.  His  work  absorbed  him  as  before,  he  accepted 
Marion  as  more  fully  a  part  of  his  life  than  she  had 
previously  been,  and,  in  so  doing,  found  an  unexpected 
contentment.  If,  at  times,  he  still  felt  that  she  was 
not  all  that  he  might  desire,  at  least  she  was  of  his 
class  and  he  understood  her  thoroughly. 

"My  work  furnishes  enough  of  romance  for  me," 
he  sometimes  thought.  "And,  if  I  want  to  remain 
a  civilized  human  being,  I  had  better  stick  to  the 
life  in  which  I  was  brought  up.  I  never  suspected 
how  much  of  a  'cave  man'  I  was  until  I  got  into  the 
heart  of  the  primitive.  Whew!  Supposing  I  had 
killed  Judd  that  afternoon!  There  were  a  few  mo- 
ments when  it  would  have  been  a  pleasure  to  have 
done  it.  Or  supposing  he  had  killed  me !  He  wanted 
to,  right  enough.  Puck  was  right." 

And  so,  while  the  months  passed,  Fortune  smiled 
on  the  brilliant  young  physician,  and  daily  laid  new 
tributes  of  wealth,  honor  and  affection  at  his  feet. 

In  the  mountain  cabin  it  was  otherwise. 
Changes,  born  of  the  travail  of  tragic  happenings, 


178  "SMILES" 

cast  their  ever-lengthening  shadows  over  Smiles' 
life,  blotting  out  the  golden  sunlight  of  childhood, 
and  overlaying  it  with  the  deeper  tones  of  woman- 
hood. 

Judd,  her  companion  since  baby  days,  she  no 
longer  called  "friend,"  and  he,  for  his  part,  steadily 
avoided  her  and  the  cabin  which  had  once  been  a 
second  home  to  him.  Big  Jerry,  uncomplaining  ever, 
day  by  day  grew  more  feeble  and  pain-wracked,  and 
so  became  more  and  more  a  dear  burden  to  her. 
Only  Mr.  Talmadge,  of  her  real  intimates,  remained 
unchanged  in  his  relations  with  her,  unless  it  was  that 
in  his  deep  and  understanding  sympathy  he  brought 
her  greater  spiritual  and  mental  comfort  than  ever. 
The  other  neighbors  were  kind  always,  in  their 
rough,  well-meaning  way ;  but  he  was  her  chief  guide 
and  comforter,  and  hi  him,  and  the  books  which 
Donald  conscientiously  sent  to  her  every  few  weeks, 
she  found  the  strength  to  carry  forward. 

So,  in  the  never-ending  tasks  which  her  daily  life 
provided,  and  which  she  performed  with  distress 
hi  her  heart,  but  a  smile  on  her  lips,  Rose  saw  the 
weeks  come  and  go,  bringing  in  their  slow-moving, 
but  inexorable,  train,  autumn,  fall  and  another 
winter. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  ADDED  BURDEN 

IT  was  mid- winter.  The  twilight  sky  —  cold  and 
pale,  more  green  than  blue  —  brought  the  thought 
of  new-made  ice.  Stripped  long  since  of  their  ver- 
dure, the  wooded  Cumberlands  lay,  like  naked,  shiv- 
ering giants,  across  whose  mighty  recumbent  torsos 
the  biting  winds  swept  relentlessly. 

In  contrast  with  the  desolation  without,  inside 
Big  Jerry's  cabin  all  was  as  bright,  warm  and  home- 
like as  a  merry  fire,  the  soft  glow  of  the  evening  lamp 
and  the  presence  of  the  heart  of  the  spot  —  the  girl 
herself  —  could  make  it. 

Thankful  for  the  blessings  of  the  cheery  home  and 
her  grandfather's  presence  in  it  still,  and  softly 
humming  an  old  ballad  which  he  loved,  Rose  was 
busily  engaged  in  preparing  an  early  supper,  when 
she  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  a  low,  uncertain 
knock  on  the  door. 

She  opened  it,  wonderingly,  and  the  firelight  leaped 
out  into  the  night  and  disclosed  the  unshaven  face 
and  gaunt  form  of  Judd. 

Save  on  rare  occasions,  and  then  at  a  distance,  she 
had  not  seen  him  since  that  fateful  day  on  the  moun- 
tain's summit,  when  his  passionate  love  and  hate, 

179 


180  "SMILES" 


intermingled,  had  driven  him  to  commit  the  great 
offence  against  the  unwritten  laws  of  the  feudal  clan, 
by  attacking  one  upon  whom  the  sacred  mantle  of 
hospitality  had  been  placed,  by  which  act  he  had 
incurred  Jerry's  enmity,  and  made  himself  love's 
outlaw. 

The  months  had  dealt  harshly  with  him.  Not 
only  was  his  clothing  frayed  and  soiled ;  but  his  face 
was  so  unnaturally  pale  that  the  deep-set  eyes  be- 
neath their  lowering  black  brows  seemed  to  burn 
like  embers,  and  there  were  many  new  lines  on  his 
countenance  not  graven  there  by  wind  and  weather. 

Shocked  at  the  change  in  him,  and  suddenly  filled 
with  womanly  compassion  which  sounded  the  knell 
of  anger,  Rose  called,  gently,  "Judd!  Why,  Judd! 
Come  in." 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  reckon  I  haint  welcome 
in  this  hyar  cabin,  Smiles,  an'  taint  on  my  own  ercount 
thet  I  comes  ter  ye." 

"Why,  what  is  the  trouble?"  was  her  startled 
inquiry. 

"Hit  ...  hit  air  leetle  Lou.  I  erlows  she's  sick 
er  somethin'. " 

"Lou?  Tell  me  quick,  Judd.  What  is  the  matter 
with  her?" 

"I  don't  rightly  know."  The  answer  was  made 
with  obvious  distress.  "She  haint  been  her  sun- 
shiny self  fer  quite  some  time,  an'  ter-night  .  .  . 
wall,  she  air  actin'  so  sorter  „  .  .  queer,  thet  I  got 
skeered." 


THE  ADDED  BURDEN          181 

"I'll  go  over  home  with  you  at  once,"  said  Rose, 
as  she  hastily  caught  up  and  drew  a  shawl  about 
her  head  and  shoulders.  "Grandpap,"  she  called 
softly  through  the  door  to  the  old  man's  bedroom, 
"I'm  ergoin'  out  fer  er  leetle  time.  One  of  ther 
neighbors  air  sick.  Don't  fret,  fer  I'll  be  back  right 
soon,  dear." 

There  was  a  brief,  rumbled  reply ;  and,  closing  the 
door  behind  her  on  the  warm  comfort  within,  the 
girl  joined  the  mountaineer  in  the  crispy  evening, 
now  almost  dark.  She  shivered  a  little,  and  he 
marked  the  involuntary  act,  and  drew  back  a  step. 

In  silence  they  walked  rapidly  up  the  narrow  path, 
slippery  from  a  recent  fall  of  light  snow.  Once  Rose 
slipped,  and  instantly  Judd's  sinewy  arm  was  about 
her  waist,  steadying  her.  Then,  as  she  regained 
her  balance  and  started  forward,  it  tightened  and 
drew  her  suddenly  to  him  in  a  passionate,  crushing 
embrace.  She  made  no  effort  to  struggle  free,  or 
voice  her  heart's  protest  against  this  outrage,  but 
stood  with  her  body  rigid  and  unyielding  within 
the  circle  of  his  arm  until  he  slowly  released  her, 
mumbling,  "I  reckon  I  air  plumb  ershamed  of  myself, 
Smiles.  I  didn't  go  fer  ter  do  hit,  an'  I  knows  thet 
I  haint  deservin'  ter  tetch  so  much  es  ther  hem  of 
yo'r  skirt." 

She  did  not  answer,  and  neither  spoke  again  until 
his  cabin  was  reached. 

When  the  door  was  opened,  Smiles  caught  sight 
of  the  child  sitting  motionless  on  a  stool  near  the 


182  "SMILES" 

fireplace.  Her  lips  were  parted  and  in  her  eyes  was 
an  odd  look  of  semi-vacuity. 

"Lou!"  cried  Rose,  pausing  in  alarmed  astonish- 
ment. 

^  A  light  of  recognition  sprang  into  the  child's  eyes, 
she  stood  up  a  trifle  unsteadily,  and  said,  with  a 
low  throaty  laugh  of  delight,  "Hit  air  my  Smiles. 
I  awful  glad  ter  see  .  .  ."  She  started  toward  her 
friend;  but  her  course  suddenly  veered  to  the  left, 
waveringly,  and  her  wandering  gaze  fell  upon  the 
now  sadly  battered  doll  lying  in  one  corner.  "To 
see  ye,  Mike, "  was  the  ending  of  her  sentence,  as  she 
trotted  to  Donald's  gift  and  began  to  cuddle  it. 

"Yo'  haint  erbeen  ter  see  Lou  fer  er  long,  long 
..."  The  piping  voice  trailed  off  into  silence. 

"Why,  Lou,  sweetheart.  What  is  the  matter? 
Don't  you  know  your  own  Smiles?"  pleaded  the 
deeply  distressed  girl,  as  she  gathered  the  child  to 
her  breast. 

The  baby's  hands  dropped  the  doll  unceremoni- 
ously and  sought  her  friend's  cheeks.  Looking  up 
with  big  eyes  into  the  face  drawn  close  to  her  own, 
she  replied  in  a  strangely  slow,  hesitant  manner. 
"In  course  I  remembers  ye,  Smiles.  Yo'  air  the 
nurse  what  lives  with  .  .  .  with  thet  thar  doctor 
man  ...  in  the  big  city,  whar  air  monkeys  thet  .  .  . 
clumb  sticks  an'  .  .  .  an'  doll  babies  what  close  thar 
eyes  .  .  .  an'  say  ...  an'  say  .  .  .  My  head  hurts 
me,  Smiles,  hit  do." 

She  lay  still  in  the  loving  arms  for  an  instant,  and 


THE  ADDED  BURDEN          183 

then  wriggled  free  and,  sliding  to  the  floor,  picked 
up  and  began  to  rock  the  doll  again,  the  while  croon- 
ing a  wordless  lullaby. 

With  anxiety  growing  akin  to  terror,  Smiles  felt  the 
irregular  pulse,  as  Donald  had  taught  her  how  to  do, 
and  pressed  her  hand  to  the  pale  cheek  and  forehead. 

"She  is  sick,  Judd,  and  I'm  kind  of  frightened, 
too.  You  can't  take  care  of  her  here,  and  I  mean 
to  take  her  home  with  me,  right  now.  I  reckon  you 
had  better  go  down  to  the  village  and  get  Dr.  John- 
ston, quick." 

The  man  had  started,  with  words  of  protest  trem- 
bling on  his  lips ;  but,  as  his  look  turned  on  his  little 
sister,  as  she  now  leaned  drowsily  against  the  girl's 
knees,  he  stifled  them  unspoken,  while  a  spasm  of 
pain  crossed  his  worn  face.  With  a  dull  nod  of 
acquiescence  he  held  out  his  arms  to  receive  the  child, 
whom  Rose  had  lifted  and  wrapped  in  a  blanket  from 
her  little  bed  that  had  been  brought  in  near  the  fire. 

The  return  journey  was  quickly  and  silently  made, 
and,  delivering  the  slight  bundle  to  Smiles  when  her 
cabin  was  reached,  Judd  set  off  into  the  night,  con- 
cern lending  wings  to  his  feet. 

"Grandpap,  hit's  Smiles  back  ergin',"  called  the 
girl  softly.  "An'  I've  brought  leetle  Lou  Amos. 
She  haint  feelin'  right  well,  an'  I  allows  I  hev  got 
ter  take  keer  of  her  here." 

The  old  man  uttered  a  low  growl  of  protest,  which 
caused  Rose  to  run  to  him  and  tenderly  lay  her  hand 
on  his  lips,  with  the  words,  "Hush,  grandpap.  The 


184  "SMILES" 

baby  haint  in  nowise  ter  blame  fer  .  .  .  fer  what 
Judd  done.  In  course  we  hev  got  ter  keer  fer  her." 

Big  Jerry  nodded  an  abashed  assent,  and  said  no 
more. 

Smiles  undressed  her  new  charge,  who  struck  un- 
certain terror  to  her  heart  by  drowsily  talking  on 
and  on,  in  snatches  of  unrelated  sentences  running 
the  gamut  of  her  limited  experiences  and  with  the 
childish  words  often  failing,  half  formed.  She  put 
the  baby  in  her  own  bed,  and,  after  the  belated 
supper  had  been  eaten  and  cleared  away,  and  the 
old  man  made  as  comfortable  as  possible  for  the 
night,  Smiles  lay  down  beside  the  baby,  whose  silence 
and  more  regular  breathing  indicated  that  she  was 
at  last  asleep. 

The  morrow's  sun  was  well  above  the  valley  horizon 
before  Judd  returned  with  the  country  doctor,  and 
again  the  former  refused  to  enter  the  cabin.  While 
the  physician  remained,  he  paced  back  and  forth, 
back  and  forth,  with  weary,  nervous  strides ;  but  even 
in  his  stress  of  mind  he  unconsciously  kept  out  of  view 
from  the  window  in  Big  Jerry's  room. 

At  last  Rose  and  Dr.  Johnston  reappeared,  and, 
breathing  hard,  Judd  hastened  to  join  them. 

"It's  brain  fever,  the  doctor  says,  Judd,"  said 
Smiles  at  once.  "He's  left  some  medicine  for  me  to 
give  her,  and  you  know  that  I'll  nurse  her  for  you 
like  she  was  my  own  baby." 

"Air  hit  ...  air  hit  bad,  doctor?"  asked  the 
mountaineer,  with  a  catch  in  his  voice. 


THE  ADDED  BURDEN          185 

"Well,  of  course  it  ain't  an ...  er  ...  exactly 
easy  thing  to  cure,  but  I  reckon  she'll  get  well  of  it. 
By  the  way,  Amos,  how  long  has  she  been  a-goin'  on 
like  that?" 

"I  kaint  rightly  say,  doctor.  She  hes  acted  kind 
er  strange-like  fer  quite  er  spell,  now  thet  I  comes 
ter  think  on  hit;  but  I  didn't  pay  no  pertickler 
attention  to  hit  ontil  er  day  er  two  back,"  answered 
the  man  contritely. 

"Hrnmm,"  said  the  doctor.  "Oh,  I  guess  we  can 
pull  her  through  all  right,  and  I  will  get  up  here  as 
often  as  I  can.  Well,  I  reckon  I'll  be  stepping  along 
back." 


But  little  Lou  did  not  fulfil  the  country  practition- 
er's optimistic  prophecy.  The  change  in  her  condi- 
tion, as  day  after  day  crept  by,  growing  longer  and 
colder,  was  almost  imperceptible ;  but  it  was  steadily 
for  the  worse.  The  mountain  winter  closed  in  with 
unusual  rigors,  and  Smiles'  cabin  continued  to  be  a 
hospital  where  she  passed  her  hours  ministering 
equally  to  the  keen-minded,  but  bodily  tortured 
old  man  —  whose  heart  pained  constantly  and  with 
growing  severity,  and  whose  breathing  became  daily 
more  labored  —  and  the  child  whose  mind  steadily 
became  more  clouded  and  her  physical  functions 
more  weak. 

Like  a  gaunt,  miserable  dog  which  had  been  driven 
from  his  home,  Judd  haunted  the  cabin.  When  she 


186  "SMILES" 

stole  out  one  morning,  to  speak  with  him  about  Lou, 
Smiles  cried,  "Oh,  if  Doctor  Mac.  were  only  here  now ! 
He  would  know  what  to  do,  I'm  sure." 

Judd's  hands,  blue  with  cold,  clenched  so  violently 
that  the  knuckles  grew  a  bloodless  white,  and  the 
look  of  pain,  lying  deep  down  in  his  eyes,  changed 
to  a  flash  of  burning  hate. 

"Don't  never  speak  thet  man's  name  ter  me,  gal." 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  harsh  voice  and  he 
strode  abruptly  away. 

At  more  and  more  infrequent  intervals,  the  village 
doctor  made  his  toilsome  way  up  the  slippery  moun- 
tain side,  sat  regarding  the  little  patient  with  a  hope- 
lessly puzzled  look,  and  finally  departed,  shaking 
his  head;  but  he  never  failed  to  leave  behind  him 
another  bottle  of  obnoxious  medicine  on  the  chance 
that  if  one  did  not  produce  an  improvement,  another 
might.  Even  to  the  girl  it  was  all  too  apparent, 
however,  that  he  was  aiming  blindly  into  the  dark. 

There  came  a  time  when  the  child  spoke  scarcely 
at  all,  save  to  moan  piteously  something  about  the 
pain  in  her  head ;  her  emaciated  legs  barely  carried 
her  on  her  uncertain  course;  her  vague,  sweet  eyes 
turned  inward  more  and  more;  and  it  was  with  the 
greatest  difficulty,  and  only  by  the  exercise  of  infinite 
patience  that  Smiles  could  feed  her.  The  little 
mountain  blossom  was  wilting  and  fading  slowly 
away. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day  of  January  Dr. 
Johnston  spent  a  long  time  at  the  cabin,  striving 


THE  ADDED  BURDEN          187 

against  the  impossible  to  solve  the  problem  which 
confronted  him  like  an  appalling  mystery,  far  too 
deep  to  be  pierced  by  the  feeble  ray  of  science  at 
his  command. 

At  last  he  arose  with  a  gesture  of  finality,  and 
announced  to  the  anxiously  waiting  girl,  "I  reckon 
I'm  done.  I  won't  go  so  fur  as  to  say  that  a  city 
specialist  might  not  be  able  to  help  her ;  but  hanged 
if  7  can.  The  trouble  is  too  much  for  me,  and  I  guess 
Lou  is  just  agoin'  to  die." 

Sudden  tears  welled  into  Smiles'  luminous  eyes, 
and  ran  unheeded  down  her  cheeks,  now  unnaturally 
thin  and  wan. 

"Hit  haint  so/'  she  cried  in  a  choked  voice.  "Lou 
haint  ergoin'  ter  die,  Dr.  Johnston ! " 

Suddenly  she  stopped,  as  her  thoughts  flew  back- 
ward on  the  wings  of  memory.  Her  eyes  grew  larger, 
a  strange  light  came  into  them.  Then,  speaking 
slowly,  almost  as  though  the  words  were  impelled 
by  a  will  other  than  her  own,  she  added  with  a  tone 
of  absolute  certainty : 

"Yo'  allows  yo'  don't  know  what  the  trouble  air, 
but  /  does." 

The  doctor  was  startled  and  looked  as  though  he 
thought  that  he  was  about  to  have  another  patient 
on  his  hands. 

"Hit  air  a  brain  tumor  thet  she  hes  got,  I  knows 
it,  an'  I  knows  one  of  the  few  doctor  men  in  this  hyar 
country  what  kin  cure  hit.  He  air  ergoin'  ter  cure 
hit  fer  me,  an'  leetle  Lou  haint  ergoin'  ter  die." 


188  "SMILES" 

Uncertain  what  to  make  of  this  outburst,  the  doctor 
departed  rather  hastily.  Smiles  caught  up  her  shawl 
and  ran  immediately  to  Judd's  lonely,  cheerless 
abode,  which  she  entered  without  a  thought  of  knock- 
ing. She  found  the  man  sitting  dejectedly  before 
a  feeble  fire. 

He  sprang  up,  voiceless  terror  apparent  in  the  look 
which  he  turned  upon  her  white  face,  but,  without 
pausing  for  any  preliminaries,  Rose  said,  "The 
doctor,  he's  been  ter  see  our  little  Lou  again,  Judd. 
He  allows  thet  he  can't  do  anything  more  for  her, 
and  thet  she  has  got  ter  die." 

The  man  —  whose  whole  world  was  now  centred 
in  the  child  to  whom  he  had,  for  a  year,  been  father 
and  mother  as  well  as  brother  —  sank  down  on  his 
chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"I  knowed  hit,"  he  muttered  in  a  dead  voice. 

"Hit  haint  so,"  cried  the  girl,  who  had  by  this 
time  wholly  relapsed  into  the  mountain  speech,  as 
she  frequently  did  still,  when  laboring  under  the  stress 
of  emotion.  "Hit  haint  so,  Judd.  We  kin  save 
her.  We  hev  got  ter  save  her." 

"Thar  haint  no  way."  The  words  were  tuned  to 
despair. 

"Thar  air  a  way.  Thar's  one  man  who  kin  save 
Lou's  life  fer  ye,  an'  we  must  get  him  ter  do  hit." 

She  had  mentioned  no  name,  but  Judd  sprang 
swiftly  erect,  fists  clenched  and  shaking  above  his 
head.  "Do  yo'  think  thet  I'd  be  beholden  ter  thet 
man,  after  what  I  done  ter  him?  Do  yo'  think  thet 


THE  ADDED  BURDEN          189 

I'd  accept  even  my  sister's  life  et  his  hands?  I  hates 
him  like  I  does  the  devil  what,  I  reckon,  air  ergoin' 
ter  git  my  soul!" 

"Judd!"  cried  the  girl,  "yo'  don't  know  what 
yo'r  ersayin'.  Hit's  blasphemy.  Ef  Doctor  Mac. 
kin  save  Lou's  life  —  an'  he  kin  —  yo'd  be  a  mur- 
derer, —  yes,  a  murderer  uv  yo'r  own  flesh  an'  blood, 
ter  forbid  him." 

Spent  by  the  force  of  his  previous  passionate 
outburst,  the  man  sank  tremblingly  back  into  the 
chair  again. 

"I  kaint  do  hit,  Smiles,"  he  answered  piteously. 
"I  kaint  do  hit,  an'  hit's  a  foolish  thought  anyway. 
He  wouldn't  come  hyar.  Hit  takes  money  fer  ter 
git  city  doctors,  an'  I  haint  got  none." 

"He  will  come  ef  I  asks  him,  an'  I  hev  money, 
Judd,"  she  said  with  a  pleading  voice. 

"No,  no,  no.  Ef  Lou  dies,  I  reckon  I'll  kill  myself, 
too;  but  I  forbids  ye  ter  call  the  man  I  wronged, 
an'  hates." 

Slowly  the  girl  turned  away,  with  a  compassionate 
glance  at  the  bent,  soul- tortured  youth,  went  out  of 
the  cabin,  and  softly  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"SMILES'"  APPEAL 

IT  was  snowing  when  she  stepped  outside,  —  a 
soft,  white  curtain  of  closely  woven  flakes  rapidly 
dimming  the  early  evening  glow  and  bringing  night- 
shades on  apace.  The  wind,  too,  was  rising;  its 
first  fitful  gusts  drove  the  snow  sweeping  in  whirling 
flurries  across  the  open  spaces,  and  then  whistled 
off  through  the  leafless  trees. 

Rose  shivered.  The  wind  greeted  her  boister- 
ously. It  clutched  her  shawl  in  hoydenish  jest,  tore 
one  end  of  it  free  from  her  grasp,  and  ran  its  invisible, 
icy  fingers  down  her  neck. 

The  cabin  of  the  nearest  neighbor  —  Pete  Andrews 
-  was  only  a  few  rods  distant ;   but,  before  the  girl 
reached  it  in  the  face  of  the  momentarily  increasing 
storm,  she  was  panting,  and  her  face,  hair  and  cloth- 
ing were  plastered  with  clinging  flakes. 

"Mis'  Andrews,  I  hates  ter  ask  er  favor  of  ye 
such  er  powerful  mean  night;  but  I  needs  help," 
said  Smiles,  as  soon  as  the  door  had  been  opened, 
letting  her  in,  together  with  a  whirl  of  snow  which 
spread  itself  like  a  ghost  on  the  rough  floor. 

"Yo'  knows  thet  I'd  do  eny thing  in  ther  world 
fer  ye,  Rose  gal.  I  reckon  I  owes  ye  my  life  since 

190 


"SMILES"    APPEAL  191 

when  .  .  .  when  Gawd  Almighty  tuck  my  baby 
back  ter  thet  garden  er  His'n  in  Paradise,"  answered 
the  frail,  weary-looking  woman,  whose  eyes  quickly 
suffused  with  tears. 

"Hit  haint  repayment  I'm  askin'  of  ye,  but  er 
favor,  Mis'  Andrews.  I  wants  ye  ter  help  me  save 
ther  life  of  another  mountin  flower,  what's  nigh 
faded  plum  erway." 

"Lou  Amos?"  asked  the  woman.  She  had  already 
turned  to  get  her  own  shawl. 

"Yes,  hit's  leetle  Lou.  She  air  powerful  sick, 
an'  I  wants  fer  ye  ter  stay  ter-night  with  her  an' 
grandpap,  ef  yo'  will.  Thar  haint  nothing  ter  do  but 
stay  with  them." 

"In  course  I'll  do  hit  fer  ye,  Smiles,"  was  the  ready 
answer,  and  her  lank,  slouching  husband  nodded  a 
silent  assent,  as  she  turned  to  him. 

"But  what  air  yo'  reckonin'  ter  do?  Yo'  kaint 
go  nowhar  in  this  hyar  storm.  I  don't  recollect  hits 
like  on  the  mountain,  no  time." 

The  girl  did  not  answer ;  but  held  the  door  open 
while  the  other  stepped  out,  only  to  catch  her  breath 
and  flatten  herself  against  the  cabin's  wall  as  a  sheet 
of  mingled  sleet  and  snow  struck  her.  By  continually 
assisting  one  another,  the  two  made  their  way  slowly 
over  to  Jerry's  home ;  and,  when  they  paused  within 
its  shelter,  Rose  held  her  companion's  arm  a  moment, 
and  said,  "Thar  haint  no  use  tryin'  ter  prevent  me, 
Mis'  Andrews,  cause  I'm  ergoin'  ter  do  hit.  I'm 
ergoin'  down  ter  Fayville,  an'  send  a  telegram  message 


192  "SMILES" 


fer  er  city  doctor  thet  I  knows,  ter  come  hyar  an' 
make  Lou  well.  Don't  go  fer  ter  tell  grandpap 
whar  I've  gone  er  he'll  worry  erbout  me,  an'  thar 
haint  no  cause  ter.  The  storm's  et  my  back,  an' 
hits  all  down  hill  goin'.  I  hates  ter  tell  a  lie  ter  him, 
but  I  allows  I've  got  ter,  this  one  time." 

In  sudden  terror  over  the  mad  plan,  the  older  woman 
began  to  protest;  but  Rose  shook  off  her  detaining 
hand,  and  put  an  end  to  the  sentence  by  leading  the 
way  hastily  into  the  cabin. 

"Thar's  a  leetle  child  what  needs  my  help,  an'  I've 
got  ter  take  keer  of  her  fer  er  while,  grandpap," 
Smiles  said  at  once.  "Mis'  Andrews  hes  come  over 
fer  ter  stay  with  ye  and  Lou,  now  haint  thet  kind  uv 
her?  I'll  git  back  es  soon  es  ever  I  kin,  but  don't 
yo'  fret  ef  hit  haint  erfore  yo'  goes  ter  bed  ...  or 
even  till  mornin'  time." 

She  furtively  obtained  a  few  bills  from  her  precious 
store,  kissed  the  old  man's  haggard,  wrinkled  cheek, 
and  the  white  forehead  of  the  baby  who  lay  on  the 
bed,  almost  inert  save  for  the  restless  moving  of  her 
head  from  side  to  side,  and  the  low  moans  which 
came  with  almost  every  breath,  and  hurried  out  into 
the  storm. 

In  later  years  Rose  could  be  induced  to  speak  only 
with  the  greatest  reluctance  of  that  journey  down  the 
snow-swept  mountain  path  —  for  the  blizzard  was 
as  fierce  as  it  was  rare  —  and  even  the  recollection 
of  it  brought  a  look  of  terror  into  her  eyes. 

There  was  flying  horror  abroad  that  night,  and 


"SMILES'"   APPEAL  193 

the  demented  trees  quivered  and  tossed  their  great 
arms  so  wildly  that  they  cracked  and  broke,  to  fall 
crashing  in  the  path.  Yet,  accomplish  the  five 
mile  long,  perilous  descent,  in  the  midst  of  lashing 
sleet  and  snow,  over  a  slippery,  tortuous  path,  she 
did.  With  her  clothing  torn  by  flaying  branches 
and  clutching  wind,  and  drenched  by  icy  water  as 
the  snow  melted ;  with  her  hands  and  lips  blue,  and 
her  feet  numb ;  with  her  wavy  hair  pulled  loose  from 
its  braids  and  plastered  wetly  against  her  colorless 
cheeks ;  she  eventually  stumbled  into  the  rude 
building  which  contained  the  railroad  and  telegraph 
office  at  the  terminus  of  the  branch  line  at  Fayville. 
Then  she  fell,  half  unconscious,  into  the  arms  of  the 
astonished  agent,  who  came  to  the  door  when  he 
heard  her  stumble  weakly  against  it. 

"Good  God,  child,  where  did  you  come  from?" 
he  cried. 

Smiles'  lips  moved  faintly,  and  he  caught  an  echo 
of  the  words  which  she  had  been  repeating  mechani- 
cally, over  and  over,  "She  haint  ergoin'  ter  die!" 

"I  reckon  she  ain't,  if  human  will  can  save  her  .  .  . 
whoever  she  is,"  muttered  the  man,  as  he  laid  the 
exhausted  girl  on  a  rude  waiting  bench,  poured  be- 
tween her  bruised  lips  a  few  drops  of  smuggled  whiskey 
from  a  pocket  flask,  and  then  unceremoniously  cut 
her  shoe  lacings  and  removed  her  sodden,  icy  boots. 

After  a  moment,  she  sat  weakly  up,  and  —  punctu- 
ated by  gasps  drawn  by  exquisite  pain  —  managed 
to  pant  out,  "I've  got  to  send  a  telegram  .  .  . 


194  "SMILES" 

to-night  .  .  .  now.  Oh,  please,  Mister,  don't  wait 
for  anything." 

"There,  there.  We'll  take  care  of  your  message 
all  right.  Don't  worry,  little  woman,"  he  answered, 
reassuringly.  "But  I  ain't  agoin'  ter  send  a  tick  till 
you're,  thawed  out.  My  missus  lives  upstairs,  an' 
she'll  fix  you  up." 

He  half-carried,  half-helped  the  weary  girl  up 
the  narrow  stairs,  and,  having  surrendered  her  into 
the  charge  of  a  kindly  and  solicitous  woman,  hastened 
to  rekindle  the  wood  fire  in  the  stove.  As  its  iron 
top  began  to  regain  the  ruddy  glow  which  had  scarcely 
faded  from  it,  Rose  crept  near,  holding  out  her  bent, 
stiffened  hands. 

"Now,  take  it  easy,  little  girl,"  cautioned  the 
agent.  "Not  too  close  at  first." 

"And  take  off  your  dress  and  stockings,  dear," 
said  his  wife.  "Don't  give  no  thought  to  him, — 
we've  got  three  daughters  of  our  own,  most  growed 
up." 

The  agent  departed,  with  a  heavy  clamping  of 
feet  on  the  stairs,  and  gratefully  —  but  with  hands 
which  were  so  numb  that  she  had  to  give  up  in  favor 
of  the  woman  —  Rose  obeyed ;  and  soon  her  teeth 
stopped  their  chattering,  and  the  red  blood  of  youth 
began  once  more  to  course  through  her  veins,  while 
her  drenched,  simple  undergarments  sent  up  vapor- 
ous white  flags  which  indicated  that  the  watery 
legions  of  the  storm  king  were  fast  surrendering  to 
their  ancient  enemy  —  Fire. 


"SMILES'"   APPEAL  195 

The  older  woman  wrapped  a  blanket  about  the 
girl,  as  her  husband  came  upstairs  again  with  a  pad 
of  telegram  blanks,  and  said,  "Now,  I'll  write  out 
the  message  you've  got  to  send  for  you,  if  you 
want  me  to." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I'm  obliged  to  you  and  your 
missus.  I  reckon  you  can  put  the  words  better 
than  I  can,  for  I  haint  ...  I  have  never  sent  one 
before.  It's  for  Dr.  Donald  MacDonald,  who  lives 
on  Commonwealth  Avenue,  up  north  in  Boston 
city.  And  I  want  to  tell  him  that  little  Lou  Amos 
is  most  dying  from  a  brain  tumor.  And  tell  him 
that  she  is  nearly  blind  and  'comatose'  ..." 

"That  word's  a  new  one  to  me,  how  do  you  spell 
it?"  interrupted  the  agent,  with  pencil  plowing 
through  his  rumpled  hair. 

"I  .  .  .1  guess  I've  forgotten.  Spell  it  like  it 
sounds,  and  he'll  know.  And  tell  him  that  I  will 
pay  him  all  the  money  I've  got,  if  he'll  only  come 
quick." 

"How  shall  I  sign  it?  It  has  to  have  your  name, 
you  know." 

"Say  it's  from  his  foster-sister,  Rose." 

Laboriously  the  man  wrote  out  the  message,  and 
the  floor  was  littered  with  discarded  attempts  before 
he  was  satisfied ;  but  in  time  the  distant,  slow  clicking 
of  the  telegraph  key  below  was  sending  not  only  the 
child's  eager  appeal  to  its  destination  many  hundred 
miles  north,  but  a  message  of  renewed  hope  into  the 
heart  of  Smiles. 


196 "SMILES" 

"It  will  cost  you  more'n  a  dollar,"  said  the  man, 
as  he  appeared  again.  "But  if  you  haven't  got  that 
much,  why  ..." 

"I've  got  it  right  here,"  responded  the  girl,  turning 
on  him  for  an  instant  a  glowing  smile  of  gratitude 
for  his  halting  offer.  "I'm  truly  more'n  obliged  to 
you,  sir  ...  and  your  wife.  I  reckon  God  meant 
that  you  should  be  here  to-night  to  help  save  the 
life  of  a  dear  little  child,"  she  added  simply. 

"Now  I'll  just  put  on  my  things  and  be  startin' 
back  home." 

"Startin'  home?  Well,  I  reckon  not.  You're 
agoin'  to  stay  right  here  to-night,  and  let  my  woman 
put  you  straight  to  bed.  That's  what  you're  agoin* 
to  do." 

Smiles'  protests  were  all  in  vain,  and  soon  the 
weary  body  and  mind  were  relaxed  in  the  sleep  which 
follows  hard  on  the  heels  of  exhaustion. 


It  was  close  on  to  midnight  when  Dr.  Donald 
MacDonald  reached  his  apartment  after  a  rare  theatre 
party  with  his  fiancee.  His  day's  work  had  been 
exacting,  and  he  was  doubly  tired.  The  thought  of 
bed  held  an  almost  irresistible  appeal. 

As  he  inserted  his  latch  key  in  the  lock,  he  heard 
the  telephone  bell  in  his  office  ringing  insistently; 
his  heart  sank,  and  cried  a  rebellious  answer. 

Combined  force  of  habit  and  the  call  of  duty 
•caused  him  to  hasten  to  the  instrument,  however, 


"SMILES'"  APPEAL  197 

without  stopping  to  remove  hat  or  coat,  and  to  his 
ear  came  a  small,  distant  voice  saying,  "A  telegram 
for  Dr.  Donald  MacDonald.  Is  he  ready  to  receive 
it?" 

"Yes  .  .  .  Hold  on  a  minute  until  I  get  a  pencil. 
...  All  right,  go  ahead." 

"It  is  dated  from  Fayville,  Virginia,  January  i, 
1914.  8:30  P.M.  Are  you  getting  it?" 

"Yes,  yes.  Go  on,"  cried  the  man,  with  increasing 
heart  pulsations. 

"  'Dr.  Donald  MacDonald,  Commonwealth  Ave., 
Boston,  Mass.  Lou  Amos  dying  of  brain  tumor 
almost  blind  and  '  k-o-m-o-t-o-s-e ' "  —  she  spelt  it  out 
—  'Come  at  once  if  possible  I  will  pay.'  It  is  signed, 
'Your  foster-sister  Rose.'  Did  you  get  it?  Yes? 
Wait  a  moment,  please,  there  is  another  one  dated 
and  addressed  the  same.  The  message  reads,  'Girl 
came  alone  down  mountain  in  howling  blizzard. 
Case  urgent.  Signed,  Thomas  Timmins,  Station 
Agent.'  That  is  all." 

"Thank  you.  Good-night,"  said  Donald  me- 
chanically, as  he  replaced  the  receiver. 

Through  the  partly  open  folding  door  he  could 
dimly  see  that  enticing  bed,  with  his  pajamas  and 
bath  robe  laid  across  it.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though 
it  were  calling  to  his  weary  body  with  a  siren's  voice, 
or  had  suddenly  acquired  the  properties  of  the  cup  of 
Tantalus.  He  hesitated,  and  moved  a  step  toward 
it.  Then  the  vision  of  Rose  as  he  had  last  seen  her, 
with  the  ethereal  smile  trembling  on  lips  that  strug- 


198  "SMILES" 

.gled  bravely  to  laugh,  and  in  deep  misty  eyes,  came 
between  it  and  him. 

't.  Still  clad  in  hat  and  overcoat,  he  seated  himself 
at  the  desk  and  called  up  first  the  information  bureau 
of  the  South  Terminal  Station,  then  his  young  asso- 
ciate, Dr.  Philip  Bentley,  in  whose  charge  he  was 
accustomed  to  leave  his  regular  patients  when  called 
away  from  the  city  for  any  length  of  time ;  and  finally 
a  house  used  as  a  semi-club  by  trained  nurses. 

When  his  last  call  was  answered  he  asked,  "Is 
Miss  Merriman  registered  with  you  now?  This  is 
Dr.  MacDonald  speaking." 

After  a  wait  of  several  minutes,  during  which  he 
felt  himself  nod  repeatedly,  a  sleepy  voice  spoke 
over  the  wire,  "This  is  Miss  Merriman,  Dr. 
MacDonald.  I'm  just  off  a  case." 

"Good.  I'm  lucky  .  .  .  that  is  if  you're  game 
to  take  another  one  immediately." 

"Yes,  doctor.     Do  you  want  me  to-night?" 

"No,  to-morrow  .  .  .  this  morning,  that  is,  will 
do.  I  shall  want  you  to  meet  me  at  the  South 
Station,  New  York  train,  at  seven  o'clock." 

"Yes,  doctor.    What  sort  of  a  case  is  it?" 

"Same  as  the  last  you  assisted  me  in  —  brain 
tumor.  But  we're  going  further  this  trip  .  .  .  the 
jumping-off  place  in  Virginia.  It's  up  in  the  moun- 
tains, so  take  plenty  of  warm  clothes." 

"Very  well,  doctor."  Then  there  came  a  little 
laugh,  for  these  two  were  excellent  friends  now,  and 
the  query,  "Another  record-breaking  fee?" 


"SMILES'"   APPEAL  199 

"I'll  tell  you  to-morrow,"  he  replied.  "Don't 
forget,  seven  o'clock  train  for  New  York.  Good- 
night." 

"Good-night,  doctor." 

Donald  turned  away  from  the  desk,  and  for  a 
moment  stood  motionless. 

"God  bless  her  brave,  trusting,  little  heart,"  he 
said  half  aloud. 

And  he  was  not  thinking  of  Miss  Merriman. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  ANSWER 

MORE  than  once  Rose  caught  herself  wondering 
if,  after  that  day  was  done,  she  would  ever  be  able  to 
smile  again.  In  obedience  to  the  doctor's  prescrip- 
tion for  Big  Jerry,  which  it  was  ever  her  first  duty  to 
fill,  she  never  looked  towards  him  —  as  he  sat  bent  over 
before  the  fire,  eyes  heavy  with  pain,  breath  coming 
in  deep  rasps,  but  lips  set  firmly  against  a  word  of 
complaint  —  without  sending  him  a  message  of  love 
and  compassion  through  the  intangible  medium  of 
that  smile.  Yet,  as  the  weary  hours  dragged  on  with 
plodding  feet,  it  seemed  to  her  as  though  each  new 
one  was  not  an  interest  payment  on  a  fund  of  hap- 
piness stored  within  her  heart,  but  a  heavy  dipping 
into  the  principal  itself. 

Before  she  had  taken  her  early  morning  departure 
back  up  to  the  mountain  over  the  sodden,  slippery 
path,  she  had  received  a  telegram  that  Donald  had 
sent  off  as  his  last  act  before  yielding  to  the  lure  of 
bed,  and  which  brought  her  the  hope-engendering 
word  that  he  would  be  with  her  as  soon  as  swift-speed- 
ing trains  could  bring  him. 

But  that  was  yesterday.  By  no  possibility  could  he 
reach  them  before  the  coming  evening,  and  surely 

200 


THE   ANSWER  201 

never  had  the  sun  taken  so  long  to  make  his  wintry 
journey  across  the  pale  blue  sky. 

Hour  after  hour  Rose  sat  by  the  bedside  of  little 
Lou,  and  tenderly  stroked  her  cold  small  hands  while 
she  hummed  unanswered  lullabies,  each  note  of  which 
was  the  chant  of  a  wordless  prayer.  The  sufferer 
lay  so  white,  so  utterly  still,  save  for  the  periods  when 
her  every  breath  was  a  faint  moan  or  she  suddenly 
shook  and  twisted  in  a  convulsive  spasm,  that  time 
and  again  the  girl  started  up  with  a  cry  of  terror 
frozen  on  her  lips  but  echoing  in  her  heart,  and  bent 
fearfully  over  to  press  her  ear  close  against  the  baby's 
thin  breast.  As  often  it  caught  the  barely  discern- 
ible beat  of  the  little  heart  within. 

The  baby's  eyes,  now  piteously  crossed,  had  turned 
upward  until  the  starlike  pupils  were  almost  out  of 
sight.  There  were  long  periods  when  only  the 
occasional  twitching  of  the  bloodless,  childishly 
curved  and  parted  lips,  or  the  uneasy  moving  of  the 
golden  crowned  head  on  the  pillow,  betrayed  the  fact 
that  the  spark  of  life  still  glowed  faintly.  Could 
she,  by  the  power  of  will  and  prayer,  keep  that  spark 
alight  until  the  one  on  whom  she  pinned  her  faith 
should  arrive,  and  fan  it  back  to  a  flame  by  his  mi- 
raculous skill?  That  was  Smiles'  one  thought. 

The  violet  shadows  of  evening  began  at  last  to 
tinge  the  virgin  whiteness  of  the  out-of-doors,  and 
Rose  caught  herself  starting  eagerly,  with  quickened 
pulse,  at  every  new  forest  sound.  The  crunching 
tread  of  Judd,  who  paced  incessantly  outside  the 


202  "SMILES" 

window,  grew  almost  unbearable.  She  counted  the 
steps  as  they  died  away,  and  listened  for  them  to 
return,  until  her  nerves  shrieked  in  protest,  and  it 
was  only  by  an  effort  that  she  curbed  their  clamoring 
demand  that  she  rush  to  the  door  and  scream  at  him ; 
bid  him  stand  still  or  begone. 


Through  the  shadows  Donald  was  once  again 
making  his  way  up  the  now  familiar  mountain  side. 
To  have  climbed  up  the  footpath  with  Miss  Merri- 
man  and  their  essential  baggage  would  have  been 
impossible,  and  he  had,  after  much  persuasion, 
finally  succeeded  in  hiring  a  man  in  Fayville  to  drive 
them  up  in  a  springless,  rickety  wagon.  This  had 
necessitated  their  taking  a  much  more  circuitous 
route,  and  what  seemed  like  an  interminably  long 
time. 

During  the  railway  journey  from  the  Hub,  he  had 
told  his  companion  all  of  the  relevant  facts,  and  much 
of  the  story  of  Rose,  and  the  nurse's  sympathetic 
interest  in  the  recital  had  made  her  almost  as  anx- 
ious as  the  man  himself  to  arrive  at  their  destina- 
tion and  answer  the  girl's  cry  for  aid. 

Once  she  had  voiced  a  doubt  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
leaving  his  urgent  practice  and  taking  such  a  trip  on 
so  slender  grounds. 

"But  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  brain  tumor, 
doctor,  or  that  there  is  either  any  chance  of  saving 
the  child's  life,  or  any  real  need  of  a  surgeon?  At 


THE  ANSWER  203 

the  most  you  have  only  the  conclusion  of  a  country 
doctor  who  can  hardly  be  competent  to  determine 
such  a  question." 

"I  have  considered  all  that,  Miss  Merriman," 
he  had  replied,  shortly,  and  then  added,  as  though  he 
felt  that  an  explanation  were  due,  "Frankly,  when 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  the 
patient  so  much  as  I  was  of  my  foster-sister.  Per- 
haps she  won't  appeal  to  you  as  she  has  to  me ;  but 
I  really  feel  a  strong  responsibility  for  her  future,  and 
I  don't  want  her  faith  in  m  ....  in  physicians  to 
be  shattered.  You  see,  I  have  held  up  the  ideal  of 
service,  regardless  of  reward,  as  our  motto."  He 
sat  silently  looking  out  of  the  car  window  for  a 
moment,  while  the  nurse  studied  his  serious,  purpose- 
ful face  and  mentally  revised  her  previous  estimate  of 
him.  Then  he  went  on,  with  an  apologetic  laugh, 
"Besides  —  Oh,  I  know  that  it  sounds  utterly  pre- 
posterous, but  there  are  times  when  a  man's  ground- 
less premonitions  are  more  real  to  him  than  any 
logical  conclusions  of  his  own.  This  is  one  of  those 
times." 

The  subject  dropped. 

Donald  had,  in  addition  to  a  fortnight's  compensa- 
tion in  advance,  given  Miss  Merriman  a  return  ticket 
and  sufficient  money  to  cover  all  necessary  disburse- 
ments, and  told  her  that  she  must,  of  course,  look 
to  him  for  any  additional  salary.  Under  no  circum- 
stances, he  said,  was  she  to  accept  what  Rose  was 
sure  to  try  and  press  upon  her. 


204  "SMILES" 

At  length  the  plodding  horse  turned  into  the  little 
clearing  before  Jerry's  cabin,  and,  as  it  appeared,  the 
watcher  outside,  his  face  twitching,  slunk  silently 
away  into  the  forest,  where  his  racked  soul  was  to 
endure  its  hours  of  Gethsemane. 

Rose  heard  them.  She  hastened  to  the  door,  and 
her  white  lips  uttered  a  low  cry  which  spoke  the 
overwhelming  measure  of  her  relief. 

"I  just  knew  you'd  come!"  she  said,  as  the  man, 
numbed  with  cold,  swung  his  companion  to  the  ground. 
The  girl  gave  her  a  quick  glance  of  surprise ;  but  her 
eyes  instantly  returned  to  the  doctor's  face  with  an 
expression  which  Miss  Merriman  decided  was  as 
nearly  worship  as  she  had  ever  seen. 

Donald  did  not  return  her  greeting  in  words  at 
first ;  but,  after  he  had  paid  the  driver,  so  liberally 
that  the  latter  was  left  speechless,  and  they  had 
entered  the  cabin,  he  held  out  his  strong  arms  to  her. 
Smiles  swayed  into  them  and  pressed  her  face  against 
the  thick  fur  of  his  coat  with  an  almost  soundless 
sigh  that  told  the  whole  story  of  anxious  waiting 
and  the  end  of  the  tension  that  had  left  its  mark  on 
her  childlike  face. 

"This,  Miss  Merriman,  is  my  little  foster-sister, 
Rose.  And  Miss  Merriman  is  a  nurse  who  has  come 
to  help  us,"  said  he,  as  he  released  her,  and  passed  on 
to  greet  the  old  giant,  who  had  slowly  pulled  his 
shattered,  towering  frame  from  his  chair,  and  now 
stood  with  a  gaunt  hand  held  out  in  welcome,  while 
a  ghost  of  his  one-time  hearty  smile  shadowed  his 


THE  ANSWER  205 

lips.  Big  Jerry's  flowing  beard  was  now  snow-white, 
and  Donald  was  shocked  at  the  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  him. 

Their  greeting  was  brief  and  simple,  as  between  men 
whose  hearts  are  charged,  and,  as  soon  as  he  had 
eased  him  back  into  his  seat,  Donald  spoke  with  a 
quick  assumption  of  his  professional  bearing. 

"Now,  about  our  little  patient.  How  is  she, 
Rose?" 

"  Close  to  the  eternal  gates,  I'm  afraid,"  whispered 
the  girl,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "  Oh,  Donald,  we 
cannot  let  her  ..."  she  turned  abruptly  and  led 
the  way  to  the  door  of  her  tiny  bedroom.  The 
doctor  stepped  inside  and  looked  briefly,  but  search- 
ingly,  at  the  child  who  lay  there,  silent,  and  the  sem- 
blance of  Death  itself.  With  her  lips  caught  by  her 
teeth,  and  her  hands  clasped  tightly  together  to  still 
her  trembling,  Rose  watched  him. 

His  next  words,  spoken  as  he  stepped  back  into  the 
cabin  and  shook  himself  free  of  his  greatcoat,  were 
brusquely  non-committal.  "And  the  doctor?  Where 
is  he?" 

"The  doctor?  Why,  he  ...  he  isn't  here;  he 
hasn't  been  here  for  days.  He  doesn't  even  know 
that  you  were  coming  /.  .  .  that  I  had  sent  for 
you." 

"What?  But  I  don't  understand,  child.  Of 
course  he  ought  to  be  here."  Donald's  voice  was  so 
sharp  that  it  brought  the  tears,  that  were  so  near 
the  surface,  into  Smiles'  eyes,  perceiving  which,  he 


206  "SMILES" 

hastened  to  add  more  gently,  "There,  there,  of  course 
you  didn't  know ;  but  I  can  hardly  hope  to  diagnose 
...  to  determine  what  the  trouble  really  is,  or 
where  the  growth,  if  there  is  one,  is  located,  unless 
I  get  a  full  history  of  the  case  from  him  and  his  own 
conclusions  to  help  me." 

"But  .  .  .  but,  Donald,  he  didn't  have  any 
conclusions.  He  said  it  was  .  .  .  was  brain  fever, 
first,  and  then  he  gave  up  trying  and  told  us  that 
Lou  had  just  got  to  die.  Besides,  7  know  the  .  .  - 
the  history.  .  .  .  '  She  stopped,  with  a  little  wail 
of  distress. 

"'Brain  fever!'  Then  who  ....  the  telegram 
certainly  said  'tumor." 

"Yes,  yes.  I  said  that.  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  why; 
but  I  just  know  that  it  is,  Donald,  for  little  Lou  has 
been  exactly  like  you  told  me  that  baby  up  north 
was  —  the  one  you  saved  by  a  ....  a  miracle. 
Oh,  don't  you  remember?  It  was  in  the  paper." 

Her  sentences  had  become  piteously  incoherent ; 
but  their  significance  slowly  dawned  upon  him.  To 
Miss  Merriman  the  conversation  was  somewhat  of 
an  enigma,  and  she  stood  aside,  regarding  Rose  with 
an  expression  half  bewildered,  half  frightened.  Had 
this  strange  child  summoned  so  famous  a  physician, 
whose  moments,  even,  were  golden,  to  the  heart  of 
the  Cumberlands  on  her  own  initiative  and  on  the 
strength  of  her  own  childish  guess,  merely?  It 
was  incredible,  a  tragic  farce. 

Perhaps  something  of  similar  import  passed  swiftly 


THE  ANSWER  207 

through  the  man's  mind,  for  he  placed  his  large  hands 
upon  the  girl's  slender  shoulders,  and,  for  an  instant, 
sent  a  searching  gaze  deep  into  her  eyes,  now  lu- 
minous with  unshed  tears,  as  he  had  first  seen  them. 
They  looked  up  at  him  troubled,  but  frankly  trusting. 

"Do  you  mean,  Rose,"  his  words  came  slowly, 
"  that  you  sent  for  me  without  a  doctor's  suggestion 
and  advice ;  that  you  did  it  on  your  own  hook? " 

She  nodded.  "I  just  couldn't  bear  to  have  her 
die.  She  is  all  that  .  .  .  that  Judd  has  got  in  the 
world,  now,  and  I  knew  that  you  could  save  her  for 
him." 

His  hands  felt  the  controlled  tension  of  her  body, 
and  he  impulsively  drew  her  close  to  him.  When 
he  answered,  his  voice  was  strangely  gentle. 

"It's  all  right,  little  doctor.  I'm  glad  that  you  did, 
and  only  hope  that  I  can  help.  Now,  let's  all  sit 
down  here  before  the  fire  —  how  good  it  feels  after 
that  bitter  ride,  doesn't  it,  Miss  Merriman?  —  and 
you  will  tell  me  all  that  you  can  about  the  baby's 
trouble  —  every  single  thing  that  you  have  noticed 
from  the  first,  no  matter  how  little  it  is.  You  see, 
that  only  by  knowing  exactly  how  the  patient  has 
acted  can  the  surgeon  even  hope  to  guess  where  the 
trouble  has  its  seat.  Once  before  I  told  you  that  a 
nurse  has  got  to  face  the  truth,  understandingly  and 
bravely,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  about  some  of 
the  difficulties  which  lie  in  the  path  that  we  must 
tread  to-night.  Your  faith  has  been  almost  —  sub- 
lime, dear.  I  wonder  if  it  would  have  failed  if  you 


208  "SMILES" 

had  known  how  like  a  child  in  knowledge  —  a  child 
searching  in  the  dark  —  is  a  surgeon  at  such  a  time 
as  this?" 

"I  ...  I  don't  believe  that  I  understand,  and 
you  kind  of  frightened  me,  Don.  I  thought  that  all 
you  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  ....  to  cut 
out  that  awful  thing  that  is  stealing  away  Lou's 
precious  life.  Wasn't  that  what  you  did  for  that 
other  little  child?" 

"Yes,  but  .  .  .  how  am  I  going  to  explain? 
If  there  is  a  tumor,  as  we  think,  I'll  do  my  best  to 
take  it  away ;  but,  in  order  to  do  that,  I  have,  of  course, 
got  to  go  inside  of  her  skull  right  to  the  brain  itself, 
and  the  trouble  might  be  here,  or  here,  or  here." 
He  touched  her  now  profusion  of  curls  at  different 
cranial  points.  "That  is  the  riddle  which  you  and 
I  must  solve,  and  I  have  got  to  look  to  you  for  the 
key.  The  human  brain  is  still  a  book  of  mystery  to 
us.  Some  day,  physicians  will  be  able  to  read  it  with 
full  understanding ;  but  so  far,  we  have,  after  thou- 
sands of  years,  barely  learned  how  to  open  its  covers 
and  guess  at  the  meaning  of  what  lies  hidden  within." 

Rose  had  edged  close  to  Miss  Merriman  on  the 
rough  bench  before  the  fire,  and,  with  the  older  woman's 
arm  about  her,  now  sat,  wide-eyed  and  wondering, 
while  Donald  talked.  As  he  kept  his  gaze  fixed  on  the 
glowing  heart  of  the  fire,  he  seemed,  in  time,  to  be 
musing  aloud  rather  than  consciously  explaining. 

"This  much  we  have  learned,  however ;  that  cer- 
tain parts  of  the  brain  control  all  the  different  actions 


THE   ANSWER  209 

or  functions  of  the  body  —  I've  called  it  a  telegraph 
station  once  before  .  ..."  he  paused,  and  both 
thought  of  little  Mike  in  his  last  home  under  the 
snow  ....  "with  different  keys,  each  sending  its 
message  over  a  separate  wire.  So  you  see  that,  if 
we  can  learn  exactly  what  the  message  has  been,  I 
mean  by  that  just  how  certain  parts  of  the  body  have 
been  affected  —  Miss  Merriman  would  call  them  the 
1  localizing  symptoms '  —  we  can  often  tell  almost 
exactly  which  key  is  being  disarranged  by  the  pres- 
sure of  a  foreign  growth,  such  as  a  tumor.  Do 
you  think  that  you  can  understand  that,  Rose?" 

She  nodded  slowly. 

"That  is  the  first,  the  great  and  most  difficult  thing 
for  us  to  do.  The  rest  depends,  in  part,  upon  the 
mechanical  skill  of  the  surgeon,  but  far  more  upon 
Fate,  for  there  are  certain  kinds  of  growths  which 
may  be  removed  with  a  fair  chance  of  success  —  it 
is  only  that,  at  present  —  and  others  .  .  .  but  we 
won't  consider  the  others.  Lou  is  young,  and  in  one 
way  that  is  in  our  favor.  If  there  is  a  tumor,  there 
is  less  likelihood  of  infiltration,"  he  added,  glancing 
at  the  nurse. 

Rose  opened  her  lips  as  though  to  ask  a  question, 
and  then  decided  not  to,  but  her  expression  caused 
Donald  to  say,  "  Come  child,  don't  look  so  frightened." 

"But  I  didn't  know  .  .  .  it's  so  ...  so  ter- 
rible. How  can  any  one  live  if  his  head  is  cut  open 
like  that?" 

"It  sounds  desperate,  doesn't  it,"  he  answered, 


SMILES 


lightly,  "But  with  our  anesthetics,  which  put  the 
patient  quietly  to  sleep,  and  our  new,  specially  made 
instruments,  the  trained  and  careful  surgeon  can  per- 
form the  operation  quite  easily  —  as  far  as  the 
mechanical  part  goes,  I  mean.  But,  you  can  see  how 
all-important  it  is  for  you  to  tell  me  just  how  Lou 
has  been  affected.  I  know  what  a  good  memory  you 
have  ;  make  it  count  to-night." 

With  her  breathing  quickened,  and  eyes  shining 
from  pent-up  excitement,  Rose  began.  Simply  and 
painstakingly  she  recounted  everything  which  she 
had  observed  about  the  baby's  strange  behavior  from 
that  painful  night  when  she  had  brought  her  from 
Judd's  lonely  cabin,  through  the  long  days  in  which 
she  had  steadily  weakened  and  failed,  to  the  time 
when  the  invisible  hand  of  Death  seemed  to  have 
begun  to  pluck  at  the  thread  of  life  itself. 

Donald  listened  intently,  without  a  word  of  inter- 
ruption, until  she  suddenly  broke  off  her  recital  with 
the  words,  "Oh,  I  can't  think  of  anything  more, 
truly  I  can't;  and  I'm  so  afraid  .  .  .  afraid  that 
it  hasn't  been  enough  to  help." 

Miss  Merriman's  encircling  arm  closed  comfort- 
ingly about  the  girl,  and  she  patted  the  head  which 
turned  and  burrowed  into  her  shoulder,  but  she  said 
nothing,  waiting  for  the  man  to  speak.  He  mused 
for  a  moment,  and  then  his  words  came  with  the 
crisp  incisiveness  of  a  lawyer  in  cross-examination. 

"As  she  lost  control  of  her  legs  and  began  to  waver 
and  stumble  when  she  tried  to  walk,  did  she  seem  to 


THE  ANSWER 


turn,  or  fall,  to  one  side  more  than  to  the  other? 
Think!" 

The  anxiety  deepened  in  Smiles'  eyes;  but  she 
answered  without  hesitation,  "No,  I  don't  think  so. 
It  was  more  as  though  her  little  body  was  plumb 
tuckered  out." 

"And  her  hearing?    Did  that  fail?" 

"No,  not  until  just  toward  the  last,  anyway. 
Even  when  she  couldn't  seem  to  answer  me,  somehow 
I  was  quite  sure  that  she  understood,  when  I  spoke, 
or  sang,  to  her.  She  would  kinder  smile,  but,  oh,  it 
was  such  a  pitiful  smile  that  it  'most  broke  my  heart." 

"She  seemed  to  understand,  eh?"  He  paused, 
and  the  room  was  very  still,  except  for  Big  Jerry's 
stentorian  breathing.  "Can  you  say  quite  certainly 
—  don't  be  afraid  to  answer  just  exactly  what  you 
think  —  can  you  say,  then,  that,  aside  from  the 
general  weakness  of  all  the  powers  of  her  little  body 
and  mind,  the  headache  and  occasional  sickness,  the 
most  noticeable  thing  hi  all  her  strange  behavior  was 
that  she  wasn't  able  to  talk  clearly,  and  this  increased 
until  she  wholly  lost  the  power  of  speech  which  hap- 
pened before  she  became  as  ...  as  I  see  her  now?  " 

"Yes,  doctor." 

Donald  turned  abruptly  to  the  nurse.  "Barring 
the  use  of  technical  phraseology,  and  a  possible  ex- 
pression of  his  own,  probably  valueless,  conclusions, 
could  any  doctor,  such  as  is  likely  to  be  practising 
in  Fayville,  have  given  me  any  more  information, 
or  told  it  better?" 


212  "SMILES" 

"No,  doctor." 

At  these  unexpected  words  of  praise  the  girl's 
smile  appeared  mistily  for  a  moment,  and  then 
quivered  away. 

There  was  silence  again  in  the  cabin,  while  the  man 
turned  his  thoughtful  gaze  back  to  the  fire,  which  had 
now  turned  to  glowing  orange  embers.  A  far-off 
look,  alien  to  his  keen,  masterful  face  crept  into  it. 
Finally  he  seemed  to  shake  off  his  new  mood,  and  spoke 
with  a  queer  laugh. 

"I  told  you  on  the  train  that  I  was  the  victim  of  an 
uncanny  premonition.  I  guess  that  Horatio  was 
right  about  there  being  many  things  outside  the  ken 
of  our  limited  philosophy.  What  psychic  whisper 
from  a  world  whose  existence  we  men  of  'common 
sense"*  —  he  spoke  the  words  sarcastically —  "are 
loath  to  credit ;  what  inspiration,  born  of  the  memory 
of  that  story  of  the  case  of  the  Bentley  Moors'  child 
in  New  York,  which  I  told  her  in  words  of  one  syllable 
six  months  ago,  was  it  that  brought  the  light  of  truth 
to  this  girl's  mind,  when  the  village  doctor  utterly 
failed  to  catch  so  much  as  a  glimmer  of  it?" 

"Then  you  think,  doctor  .  .  .  ?"  began  Miss 
Merriman. 

"My  diagnosis  coincides  with  Smiles',  —  a  tumorous 
growth  on  the  brain,  probably  upon  the  third  left 
frontal  convolution  ....  right  here,"  he  said  in 
explanation,  as  he  touched  his  forehead  between  the 
left  eyebrow  and  the  hair.  "Rose,  you  have  done 
excellently.  Now  we,  too,  will  do  what  we  can,  and 


THE  ANSWER  213 

we  shall  need  your  help  in  full  measure  to-night.  I 
know  that  it  is  going  to  be  bitterly  hard  for  you, 
perhaps  the  hardest  thing  that  you  will  ever  be  called 
upon  to  do  in  all  your  life ;  you've  got  to  be  a  woman, 
and  a  brave  one.  I'd  spare  you  if  I  could,  but  .  .  .  ." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  spared,  Donald,"  she  in- 
terrupted, eagerly. 

"I  know,  and  I  trust  you  more  than  I  could  any 
grown-up  woman  here  in  the  mountains.  It's  hardly 
necessary  to  tell  you  again,  that  a  nurse  is  a  soldier, 
and  must  be  not  only  brave,  but  obedient.  If  we 
decide  to  ...  to  go  ahead  I  will  be,  not  your 
friend,  but  your  superior  officer  for  a  while,  and, 
if  my  orders  seem  harsh  and  even  cruel,  you  must 
not  hesitate,  or  feel  hurt.  You  understand  that, 
don't  you,  dear?" 

"Yes,  doctor.    I  understand." 

She  spoke  bravely,  but  her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

"Good.  Before  I  make  my  final  examination, 
Miss  Merriman  and  I  have  got  to  change  our  clothes. 
She  will  use  your  room  and  I  the  loft ;  but  first  let 
us  bring  Lou's  bed  out  here  by  the  fire." 

It  was  done. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "while  we  are  getting  ready, 
there  are  a  number  of  things  which  you  have  got  to 
do,  and  you  will  have  to  work  fast.  First,  make 
grandfather  comfortable  in  his  room,  and  build  up 
this  fire.  Then  heat  up  as  much  water  as  the  big 
kettle  will  hold,  and  see  that  a  smaller  one  is  scoured 
absolutely  clean.  Start  some  water  heating  in  that, 


214  "SMILES" 

too.     Finally,   undress  Lou   completely,   and   wrap 
her  in  a  blanket.     Can  you  remember  all  that?" 

"Yes,  Donald  .  .  .  yes,  doctor." 

Donald  smiled,  and  added,  "One  thing  more. 
Partly  fill  a  pillow-case  with  sand,  or  dirt,  if  it  is 
possible  to  get  any.  Perhaps  the  ground  in  the  wood- 
house  isn't  frozen  so  hard  but  that  you  can  get  it." 

She  nodded  wonderingly. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  her  duties  were  completed 
and  Miss  Merriman  and  Donald  had  appeared,  clad 
in  their  spotless  white  garments  of  service.  Rose, 
likewise,  was  in  her  play  Xiniform,  which  was  now 
considerably  too  small  for  her,  and  her  appearance 
in  it  would  have  caused  a  smile  if  it  had  not  been  more 
provocative  of  tears. 

Six  months  earlier  the  doctor  and  nurse,  assisted 
by  others  of  the  most  skilled  and  highly  trained  that 
the  metropolis  afforded,  had  prepared  to  perform 
the  same  desperate  service  in  humanity's  cause,  within 
the  perfectly  appointed  operating  room  of  a  modern 
city  hospital.  How  different  was  the  setting  now ! 

In  the  rude,  but  homey  room  of  the  mountain  cabin, 
lighted  only  by  old-fashioned  lamps  and  lanterns  and 
the  pulsating  blaze  of  the  fire  in  the  cavernous  fire- 
place, whose  colorful  gleam  touched  with  gold  the 
scoured  copper  of  pot  and  kettle,  the  three  workers, 
in  the  immaculate  garments  of  a  city  sickroom,  bent 
intently  over  the  naked  form  of  the  nearly  insensible 
child,  to  whose  alabaster  body  the  leaping  flames 
imparted  a  simulated  glow  of  warm  tones. 


THE  ANSWER  215 

The  general  examination  was  brief,  and  made  in 
silence.  Then  Donald  drew  the  covering  over  the 
little  body  as  a  sculptor  might  the  cloth  over  his 
statue,  and  straightened  up  with  a  look  in  his  gray 
eyes  that  was  new  to  Rose. 

He  spoke  in  curt  sentences.  "Of  course  the  case 
is  far  more  desperate  than  our  last,  Miss  Merriman. 
It's  the  proverbial  'one  chance  in  a  thousand.'  On 
that  single  thread  hangs  the  child's  life." 

Suddenly  he  startled  Rose  by  giving  a  short,  mirth- 
less laugh,  and,  turning  away,  he  began  to  speak  in 
an  undertone,  as  though  unconscious  of  the  presence 
of  the  other  two,  for,  despite  his  previous  calm,  the 
thought  of  what  was  in  prospect  had  keyed  up  his 
nerves  to  a  pitch  where  they  quivered  like  the  E  string 
of  a  violin. 

"Good  God,  what  a  colossal  nerve  a  man  is  some- 
times called  upon  to  have  in  this  world.  Of  course 
she'll  die  in  twenty-four  hours  if  I  don't  operate ;  but 
only  a  fool  —  or  a  genius  —  would  tackle  this  opera- 
tion under  such  impossible  conditions.  Practically 
none  of  the  things  here  that  science  says  are  necessary. 
'A  fool,  or  a  genius."  — He  suddenly  smote  his 
hands  together,  and  said,  "I  hope  that  I'm  a  fool  for 
to-night.  God  takes  care  of  them  .  .  .  and  drunk- 
ards. I  wish  I  had  a  strong  slug  of  Judd's  white 
whiskey,  it  might  steady  my  nerves. 

"Where  is  Judd?"  he  snapped  out,  aloud,  turning 
to  Rose. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  MODERN  MIRACLE 

"I  DON'T  know.  He  was  here  when  you  came,  but 
I  saw  him  going  up  the  mountain  into  the  woods. 
But  I'll  answer  for  him ;  I'll  take  that  chance,  doctor. 
She  is  nearly  as  dear  to  me  as  she  is  to  him,  and  I 
know  that  she  is  going  to  die,  unless  .  .  .  unless  ..." 

"I  knew  you'd  say  it.  Well,  we'll  operate,  Miss 
Merriman." 

Donald's  voice  was  calm,  impersonal  again,  and 
his  tone  had  a  steely  quality,  as  though  his  lancet 
or  scalpel  had  become  endowed  with  a  voice,  and 
spoken. 

Silently,  and  with  practised  hands,  the  nurse 
began  to  unpack  his  bag  and  lay  out  upon  a  sheet, 
which  she  obtained  from  Rose  and  spread  over  the 
rough  table,  the  many  strange  instruments,  bottles, 
rolls  of  bandages  and  sponges  in  their  sterile  pack- 
ages. 

"Have  you  any  baking  soda  —  saleratus,  Rose?" 

She  nodded. 

"Good.  Put  about  a  teaspoonful  in  the  smaller 
kettle,  and  boil  these  instruments  for  ten  minutes, 
while  we  are  making  the  final  preparations.  I  want 
some  hot  water,  too." 

216 


A  MODERN  MIRACLE          217 

He  turned  away,  and  for  a  moment  stood  looking 
up  at  the  calm  heavens  in  which  the  stars  made 
openings  for  the  white  eternity  beyond  to  shine 
through.  Something  in  the  scene  bore  his  thoughts 
back  to  that  summer  evening  when  the  mountain 
man  of  God  had  tried  so  earnestly  to  minister  to  his 
own  disease.  Snatches  of  sentences  re-echoed  in 
his  memory.  Then  he  stepped  back  to  Smiles'  side 
and  his  voice  was  soft,  as  he  said,  "I  suppose  that, 
whenever  a  surgeon  begins  an  operation  like  this 
one,  he  has  an  unformed  prayer  deep  in  his  heart, 
though  he  may  not  realize  to  whom  he  prays.  There 
was  never  more  occasion  for  one  than  to-night,  Rose. 
I  know  that  the  Great  Healer  is  nearer  to  you  than 
to  me.  Ask  Him  that  my  hand  may  not  falter." 

She  nodded  again,  sweetly  serious. 

Once  more  his  accustomed  bluntness  of  manner 
returned,  and  he  snapped,  "Oh,  why  in  the  devil 
didn't  I  have  sense  enough  to  bring  another  assist- 
ant?" 

"I  am  here,  doctor,"  answered  the  girl. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know."  He  regarded  her  with  the 
old,  searching  look.  Then,  to  the  nurse,  "It's  only 
one  of  the  many  chances  we  have  got  to  take.  When 
you  put  the  patient  under  the  anaesthetic  you  will 
show  Rose  exactly  how  it  is  administered,  for  she 
will  have  to  keep  her  unconscious  without  any  further 
aid  from  you  after  I  begin  to  operate.  We  have 
got  to  trust  her,  Miss  Merriman,"  he  added  shortly, 
as  he  caught  the  expression  of  grave  doubt  which 


218  "SMILES" 

the  nurse  could  not  keep  from  appearing  on  her  coun- 
tenance. "See  that  she  washes  and  sterilizes  her 
hands  thoroughly.  That  hot  water,  Rose.  I  want 
a  basinful." 

She  supplied  it,  then  departed  to  do  the  rest  of 
his  bidding,  and  for  some  moments  was  kept  so  busy 
that  she  did  not  realize  what  the  other  two  were 
doing  at  the  bedside,  other  than  to  note  that  Donald 
had  raised  the  head  of  the  bed  by  blocking  up  the 
legs  with  firelogs,  and  covered  it  with  a  rubber  sheet 
such  as  she  had  never  seen  before. 

When  she  did,  however,  return  to  the  side  of  the 
little  sufferer,  whose  face  was  far  whiter  than  the 
clean,  but  coarse,  sheet  which  covered  the  emaciated 
body,  a  low  cry  of  protest  and  grief  was  wrung  from 
her  lips.  Already  most  of  the  lovely  ringlets  of  spun 
gold,  which  had  won  for  the  baby  Donald's  charac- 
terization of  "Little  Buttercup,"  gleamed  on  the 
rough  floor,  and  the  ruthless  but  necessary  sacrifice 
was  being  continued. 

There  were  tears  on  her  cheeks  as  she  aided  the 
doctor  to  scrub  the  shorn  scalp,  until  the  child  moaned 
and  turned  her  head  from  side  to  side. 

"He  is  my  commanding  officer.  He  told  me  that 
I  must  always  remember  that,  and  obey,"  whispered 
Rose  to  herself,  as  Donald,  in  his  abstraction,  began 
to  snap  forth  his  orders  in  a  manner  and  tone  which, 
for  a  moment,  made  her  shrink  and  quiver.  His 
words  were  often  unintelligible  to  her,  until  Miss 
Meniman,  silent-footed  and  efficient,  translated 


A  MODERN  MIRACLE 


them  into  action,  as,  before  the  wide  eyes  of  the 
mountain  child,  there  began  to  unfold  the  swift 
drama  of  modern  surgical  science  at  its  pinnacle, 
amid  that  fantastic  setting. 

Strange  words,  indeed,  were  those  which  now  fell 
on  her  attentive  ears,  many  of  them  far  outside  the 
bounds  of  her  limited  vocabulary  ;  yet,  stranger  still, 
she  soon  began  to  grasp  their  meaning  intuitively, 
and  her  quick  native  perception,  keyed  high  by 
emergency,  led  her  often  to  anticipate  the  physician's 
wish,  and  act  upon  it.  More  than  once  she  won  a 
look  of  surprise  from  the  older  woman. 

Donald's  directions  to  Miss  Merriman  were  curt 
and  incisive  ;  but  soon  he  did  not  limit  his  speech 
to  them.  Rather  he  seemed  to  be  uttering  his 
thoughts  aloud;  the  old  habit  of  making  a  running 
explanation  for  the  benefit  of  a  clinic  or  the  better 
understanding  of  an  assistant  was  subconsciously 
asserting  itself,  and  it  was  to  Rose  as  though  she 
were  listening  to  the  outpouring  of  a  fountain  of 
knowledge,  whose  waters  engulfed  her  mind  and  made 
it  gasp,  yet  carried  her  along  with  them.  It  was  all 
a  dream,  a  weird,  impossible  nightmare  to  her;  the 
familiar  room  began  to  assume  a  strange  aspect, 
and  the  man's  words  came  to  her  as  do  those  heard 
in  a  sleeping  vision  —  real,  yet  tinctured  with  un- 
reality. 

"In  this  case  the  elastic  tourniquet  will  stop  the 
blood  flow  as  effectively  as  the  Heidenhain  back- 
stitch suture  method,  I  think,  Miss  Merriman,  and 


220  "SMILES" 

it  will  be  much  simpler.  I'm  glad  I  brought  it. 
Have  you  the  saline  solution,  and  the  gauze  head- 
covering  ready?" 

"Yes,  doctor." 

"Then  you  may  administer  the  ether  —  use  the 
drop  method,  and  don't  forget  to  show  her  just  how 
to  regulate  it. 

"No  blood-pressure  machine,"  he  muttered.  "Oh, 
well,  we've  just  got  to  trust  to  her  being  able  to  stand 
it,  and  ..." 

"And  to  God,"  whispered  Rose. 

He  glanced  quickly  up,  as  though  he  had  already 
forgotten  her  presence,  and  added,  gently,  "Of 
course." 

The  small  pad  of  gauze,  which  Miss  Merriman  laid 
over  the  baby's  face,  grew  moist ;  a  strange,  pungent 
odor  began  to  fill  the  room.  As  she  bent  over  to 
watch  intently  what  the  nurse  was  doing,  Rose 
suddenly  found  herself  beginning  to  get  dizzy. 

"Stand  up,  Smiles,"  came  the  sharp  command. 
"Here,  hold  this  handkerchief  over  your  mouth  and 
nose.  Now,  take  the  bottle  yourself  ...  so  ...  a 
drop  on  the  pad  .  .  .  now.  Yes,  that's  right,  just 
as  Miss  Merriman  has  been  doing.  Little  Lou  is 
wholly  unconscious,  we  must  keep  her  so. 

"Remember,  now  your  test  is  beginning,  and  I 
expect  you  not  to  fail  me.  A  great  deal  depends  on 
you,  Rose.  You  are  a  soldier  on  the  firing-line  now, 
and  you  are  going  to  keep  up,  whatever  happens. 
It  may  be  for  half  an  hour,  but  you  will  keep  up, 


A  MODERN  MIRACLE          221 

for  me,  for  Lou,  whatever  happens.  Remember! 
Whatever  happens!" 

He  looked  fixedly  Into  the  unnaturally  big  eyes 
which  were  turned  up  to  his  like  two  glorious  flowers, 
and  she  nodded.  With  a  pang  of  regret  he  noticed 
how  thin  her  face  was,  and  how  white,  —  so  pale 
that  the  color  had  fled  even  from  the  sweet,  sensitive 
lips  which  smiled  ever  so  faintly  at  him,  and  then 
at  the  nurse,  as  the  latter  made  the  quiet  suggestion 
that  she  try  to  keep  her  eyes  always  fixed  on  the  pad 
of  gauze,  and  not  let  them  be  drawn  away  from  it  if 
she  could  possibly  help  it. 

But  at  first  she  could  not,  and  so  she  saw  the  pitiful 
little  head,  stripped  of  its  golden  crown,  first  covered 
with  a  clinging  veil  of  wet  cloth,  over  which,  from 
behind  the  ears  to  the  top  of  the  forehead,  a  circular 
band  of  rubber  tubing  was  adjusted  and  drawn  tight 
into  the  flesh  —  "to  stop  the  blood,  like  I  did  for 
grandpappy  when  he  cut  his  arm,"  she  thought. 
Then  the  head  was  gently  raised  and  settled  into 
position  on  the  sand-filled  pillow,  which  cradled  it 
firmly. 

Only  the  gurgling  breath  of  the  mercifully  uncon- 
scious baby,  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire,  broke  the 
silence  as  the  surgeon  adjusted  and  posed  his  patient's 
head,  as  an  artist  would  his  model's. 

A  piercing  light  flashed  before  the  girl's  eyes,  and 
she  saw  that  now  Miss  Merriman  held  a  strange- 
looking  black  tube,  which  shed  a  circle  of  concentrated 
sunshine  on  the  gauze-covered  head.  It  was  her 


222  "SMILES" 

first  experience  with  a  flashlight,  and  she  marvelled 
at  its  power. 

Now  there  came  another  dart  of  light,  thin  and 
fleeting,  and  she  knew  that  a  knife  was  poised  in  mid- 
air. Involuntarily  she  closed  her  eyes  tight;  a 
shudder  ran  through  her.  Donald's  voice  spoke 
impersonally,  and  steadied  her. 

"I  shall  expose  the  third  left  frontal  convolution 
of  the  brain  through  the  fronto-parietal  bone,  and, 
in  making  the  osteoplastic  flap,  I  intend  to  leave 
a  wide  working  margin  above  the  size  of  the  opening 
which  may  actually  be  necessary  in  order  the  reach 
the  growth.  It  has  got  to  be  fully  exposed  at  once. 
I  can't  afford  to  delay,  under  the  circumstances." 

The  gleam  of  the  scalpel  held  her  unwilling  gaze 
with  the  fascination  of  horror;  she  drew  her  breath 
with  a  sound  between  a  shudder  and  a  sigh  as  it 
descended.  .  .  . 

"I  must  keep  my  eyes  on  the  ether  pad,"  came 
the  command  from  her  whirling  brain. 

Many  nights  thereafter,  Rose  was  to  start  up 
from  troubled  sleep  with  strange  sounds  and  stranger 
words  echoing  in  her  brain  —  words  like  "bevelled 
trephines,"  "Hudson  forceps,"  "elevators,"  "Hors- 
ley's  wax,"  "rongeurs,"  "clips"  and  "sponges,"  — 
but  during  the  actual  operation  she  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  them,  and  her  principal  feeling  was  one 
of  dumb  rebellion  which  grew  until  she  found  herself 
almost  hating  this  Donald,  who  could  speak  with 
such  unconcern  and  apparent  callousness,  at  such 


A  MODERN  MIRACLE          223 

a  time.  As  well  as  she  could,  she  willed  her  swimming 
gaze  to  remain  fixed  on  the  pad  which  she  must  keep 
moist.  The  difficulty  of  the  task  had  suddenly 
become  increased,  for  the  pad  seemed  to  become  an 
animate  thing.  Now  it  appeared  to  retreat  into 
the  distance,  and  again  it  came  floating  back  until 
it  seemed  about  to  smother  her.  There  was  a  droning 
note  in  her  ears ;  the  words  spoken  by  the  other  two 
sounded  mixed  and  indistinct. 

Of  only  one  sentence,  repeated  monotonously  in 
Miss  Merriman's  clear  voice,  was  she  really  conscious. 
"Rose,  a  drop  of  ether  ...  a  drop  of  ether  ...  a 
drop  of  ether." 

She  wanted  to  speak,  to  ask  them  if  the  room  were 
not  frightfully  hot;  but  she  could  not. 

Rose  had  never  fainted  in  her  life,  but  she  had  once 
seen  a  neighbor  swoon,  and  she  realized  vaguely 
that,  as  the  minutes  passed,  her  consciousness  was 
slowly  slipping  from  her.  The  air  was  close  and 
heavy  with  strange  smells.  She  felt  as  though  she 
were  swaying  like  a  pendulum.  The  old,  familiar 
objects  grew  grotesquely  large  and  hazy;  the  deep 
shadows  in  the  corners  multiplied,  and  began  to 
dance  a  solemn  minuet,  advancing,  retreating;  ad- 
vancing, retreating.  .  .  . 

"Another  drop  of  ether." 

She  took  a  fresh  mental  grasp  on  herself,  and  held 
Duty,  like  a  visible  thing,  before  her  eyes. 

Again  that  queer,  far-away  voice. 

"Look,  Miss  Merriman.     Can  you  see  that  neo- 


224  "SMILES" 

plasm  under  the  membrane?  Ah  .  .  .  now  the 
flat  dissector  ...  no,  the  blunter  one  ..." 

The  voice  trailed  away  into  nothing,  and  another 
recalled  her  failing  senses,  with  the  battle  cry : 

"Rose,  another  drop  of  ether." 

Then  it  began  again,  "Thank  heaven,  there 
is  no  infiltration,  the  growth  is  well  localized 
and  encapsulated.  Steady,  steady.  .  .  .  Ah,  very 
pretty." 

The  word  caught  her  flickering  thoughts,  and 
angered  her.  How  could  any  one  use  it  about  any- 
thing so  awful? 

There  was  another  misty  moment.  Then,  "The 
operation  is,  in  itself,  a  success,  I  think.  .  .  .  Now 
if  the  child's  vitality  ...  I  never  did  a  better  one 
.  .  .  another  sponge  .  .  .  excellent  .  .  .  Are  the  su- 
tures ready?  .  .  .  Quick,  take  the  ether  bottle, 
Miss  Merriman ! " 

Suddenly  the  girl  felt  a  painful  grasp  on  her  arm. 
Some  one  was  shaking  her  roughly. 

"Rose,"  came  the  same  strange  voice,  "we  need 
some  more  wood  for  the  fire.  Go  out  to  the  woodpile, 
and  get  some." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

VICARIOUS  ATONEMENT 

IN  happy  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  the  order 
had  been  given  merely  to  get  her  outside,  Smiles 
stumbled  to  the  door  with  blind  thankfulness,  and, 
as  soon  as  she  had  closed  it  behind  her,  crumpled 
up  in  an  unconscious  heap  on  the  snow. 

Within  doors,  the  nurse  was  saying,  "I  think  she's 
fainted,  doctor.  I  heard  her  fall." 

"Probably,"  was  the  callous  response.  "Don't 
worry  about  her,  the  cold  will  bring  her  around. 
We've  got  to  get  these  sutures  in.  But,  say,  hasn't 
she  been  a  brick?" 

Donald's  prophecy  was  correct.  Rose  came  to 
her  senses  a  moment  later,  and,  trembling  and  sobbing 
uncontrolledly,  stumbled  through  the  darkness  to 
the  woodpile,  and  sat  down  on  it.  For  a  time  she 
was  powerless  to  move,  but  when,  at  length,  she  did 
re-enter  the  cabin,  with  an  armful  of  wood,  although 
her  face  was  drawn  and  white,  her  self-control  was 
fully  restored. 

Already  the  surgeon  and  nurse  were  bathing  off 
the  sewn  wound  with  antiseptic  fluid,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  the  little  injured  head  was  wrapped  in 

225 


226  "SMILES" 


the  swathing  bandages  which  covered  it  completely, 
down  to  the  deathlike,  sunken  cheeks. 

The  period  of  coming  out  from  under  the  merciful 
anaesthesia  ended,  the  drooping  flower  was  restored 
to  its  freshly  made  bed,  the  evidences  of  what  had 
occurred  removed,  and  then  Smiles  turned  to  her 
beloved  friend  with  a  pleading,  unspoken  question 
in  her  eyes. 

"I  can't  tell  you  yet,  dear.  I  have  ...  all  of  us 
have  done  our  mortal  best  and  now  the  issues  are 
in  higher  hands  than  ours.  I  hope  .  .  .  But  come, 
tell  me,  Rose,  what  made  you  feel  so  sure  that  the 
trouble  was  a  tumor  on  the  brain.  Was  it  merely 
a  guess,  based  on  what  I  had  explained  to  you?" 

"No.  I  ...  I  just  knew  it.  I  reckon  that  God 
told  me  so,"  was  her  reply. 

"Well,  God  was  certainly  right,  then,"  smiled 
Donald,  glad  of  any  chance  to  relieve  the  tension. 
"Do  you  want  to  see  the  growth?  See,  it  is  as  large, 
nearly,  as  a  walnut.  Do  you  wonder  that,  with 
this  thing  pressing  more  and  more  into  her  brain, 
Lou  was  robbed  of  her  power  to  talk  and  act?" 

The  girl  broke  down  at  last  and  wept  hysterically, 
which  caused  Donald  to  look  as  uneasy  as  any  mere 
man  is  bound  to  in  such  a  circumstance;  but  Miss 
Merriman  came  to  his  rescue  with  comforting  arms, 
and  the  words,  "There,  there,  dear.  Cry  all  you 
want  to  now.  It's  all  over,  and  Dr.  MacDonald  will 
tell  you  that  if  she  gets  well  —  as  we  believe  that  she 
will  —  little  Lou  will  be  as  healthy  and  happy  a 


VICARIOUS  ATONEMENT       227 

baby  as  she  ever  was  in  her  life.  He's  taken  out 
that  wicked  growth,  kernel  and  all,  and  it  will  never 
come  back  again.  Will  it,  doctor?" 

"Almost  certainly  not.  Rose,  we  couldn't  have 
done  vrithout  you  to-night.  You  have  been  the 
brave  little  soldier  that  I  told  you  to  be;  but  I'm 
afraid  that  it  has  been  a  terrible  strain  for  you.  Of 
course,  it  was  an  exceptional  operation,  rare  and 
dangerous ;  but  it  has  given  you  a  pretty  vivid  idea 
of  what  trained  nurses  have  to  go  through  frequently. 
Has  it  changed  your  mind?  Do  you  still  think  that 
you  want  to  go  ahead  and  give  your  lif  e  to  such  work  ?  " 

"Would  you  ask  a  real  soldier  if  he  wanted  to  quit, 
or  keep  on  fighting,  after  he  had  been  in  one  battle, 
and  seen  men  killed  and  wounded?  It's  got  to  be 
done,  hasn't  it,  if  the  poor  sick  babies  and  grown-up 
people  are  to  be  made  strong  and  well  again?  And 
I've  just  got  to  help  do  it,  Donald." 

He  gave  Miss  Merriman  a  significant  look;  but 
his  only  response  was,  "Well,  unless  you  want  another 
job  —  that  of  bringing  back  to  life  people  who  have 
starved  to  death  —  you  had  better  get  us  a  bite  to 
eat  and  some  of  your  strong  coffee.  My  internal 
anatomy  ..." 

"Oh,  I  plumb  forgot.  You  haven't  had  a  thing 
to  eat  —  nor  poor  granddaddy,  either.  I'm  so 
ashamed  I  could  die." 

Two  hours  later,  after  she  had  finished  making 
the  old  man  as  comfortable  as  possible  for  the  night, 


228  "SMILES" 

Rose  rejoined  the  other  two  in  the  main  cabin.  She 
came  just  in  time  to  catch  Donald  in  the  act  of  half- 
heartedly trying  to  conceal  a  deep  yawn. 

As  he,  in  turn,  caught  sight  of  her  sympathetic 
smile,  he  said,  "We  have  given  our  patient  a  mild 
sleep  inducer;  and  now,  Rose,  I  want  you  to  go 
up  into  my  loft  room  right  away,  and  get  a  long 
night's  sleep  yourself.  You've  been  under  a  mighty 
heavy  strain  to-day;  there  are  many  other  hard 
days  coming,  and  we  can't  have  another  patient  on 
our  hands." 

The  girl  nodded,  sleepily;  but  she  had  not  taken 
one  weary  step  before  a  different  thought  struck 
her,  and  she  turned  back  to  cry,  contritely,  "But 
you  .  .  .  and  Miss  Merriman.  There  won't  be 
any  place  for  you  to  sleep,  or  for  her  either.  Oh, 
what  can  we  do?" 

"Just  forget  about  us,  my  child.  I  shan't  undress 
to-night,  anyway,  and  can  roll  myself  in  my  big 
fur  coat  and  camp  out  in  your  little  room,  since  Lou 
must  stay  out  here  where  it  is  warmer.  And  as  for 
Miss  Merriman  ...  if  I  catch  her  so  much  as  closing 
her  eyes  for  one  minute,  to-night,  I'll  wring  her 
neck." 

The  nurse  laughed;  but  Smiles'  lips  set,  purpose- 
fully. "I  forgot  again.  Of  course  some  one  has 
got  to  sit  up  with  little  Lou,  and  I'll  do  it.  Why, 
Donald,  poor  Miss  Merriman  has  been  traveling 
and  working  all  day  long,  and  she's  just  tired  to 
death  —  she  must  be.  Of  course  she  has  got  to  get 


VICARIOUS  ATONEMENT 

some  rest.  You  go  right  up  into  the  loft  room,  dear 
..."  and  she  began  to  push  the  nurse  gently  toward 
the  ladder. 

"Rose,"  cut  in  the  doctor,  sternly,  although  his 
eyes  held  a  pleased  twinkle,  "you're  apparently 
forgetting  one  thing  —  that  I'm  boss  here  for  the 
present,  and  that  my  nurses  must  learn  to  do  as 
they  are  told,  without  arguing.  I'm  sorry  for  Miss 
Merriman,  too;  but  she  knows  just  what  to  do  if 
anything  happens,  and  you  don't  —  yet.  Besides, 
it  won't  be  the  first  time  that  she  has  stayed  up 
twenty-four  hours  at  a  stretch,  will  it?" 

"No,  indeed  —  nor  forty-eight,"  answered  the 
nurse,  as  she  smoothed  the  pillow  under  the  little 
patient's  head.  "I  shall  want  you  fresh  and  strong 
to  help  me  with  the  'day  shift,'  Smiles  dear.  And, 
as  the  doctor  says,  orders  are  orders." 

The  girl's  tired  eyes  suddenly  filled  again,  this 
time,  with  hurt,  rebellious  tears,  and  a  pout,  almost 
like  a  child's,  appeared  on  her  lips  as  she  turned  and 
moved  slowly  toward  the  ladder  in  the  far  corner. 
Donald  watched  her  with  sympathetic  understand- 
ing and  the  thought,  "She  must  think  me  a  brute"; 
but,  before  he  could  speak  the  word  of  consolation 
which  was  on  his  tongue,  she  whirled  about,  just  as 
she  had  when  sent  to  bed  on  the  first  night  of  their 
acquaintance,  and  running  back,  threw  herself  into 
his  arms.  As  she  clung  to  him  passionately,  sobbing 
without  restraint  from  weariness  and  the  break 
in  the  tension  which  had  kept  her  up  for  so  loBg,  ske 


230  "SMILES" 

whispered,  "Oh,  I  love  you  so,  dear  Don.  You 
have  been  so  good,  so  good  to  me,  and  I'm  so  very- 
happy." 

"Well,  well,"  answered  the  man  huskily,  as  he 
patted  her  shoulder,  "you  certainly  have  a  funny 
way  of  showing  it;  but,  after  all,  women  are  queer 
creatures.  I'm  happy,  too,  dear  —  happy  to  be 
here  and  to  have  been  able  to  help  you.  And  now," 
he  concluded,  lightly,  "my  happiness  will  be  com- 
plete if  you  will  just  let  me  see  that  sunny  smile 
on  your  face,  as  you  obey  that  order  which  I  have 
had  to  give  you  three  times  already." 

The  tired  girl,  for  the  moment  more  child  than 
woman,  leaned  back  in  his  arms  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  an  expression  so  transcendently  appealing 
that  it  was  only  by  the  exercise  of  all  his  moral  force 
that  he  was  able  to  restrain  the  impulse  to  crush 
her  to  him.  He  saw  that  the  nurse  was  regarding 
him  with  a  peculiar  expression,  and  as  she,  in  turn, 
caught  his  eye  and  turned  hastily  away  with  a  little 
added  color  in  her  cheeks,  Donald  recovered  himself, 
lightly  kissed  the  forehead  so  close  to  his  lips,  and 
said,  "Now  for  the  fourth,  and  last,  time,  'go  to  bed.' 
Good-night,  little  sister." 

This  time  Rose  actually  departed,  and,  after  the 
physician  had  given  Miss  Merriman  a  few  final 
directions,  and  bidden  her  call  him  instantly,  if 
anything  appeared  to  be  going  wrong,  he  said  good- 
night to  her  also,  and  stepped  toward  the  little  room 
which  he  was  to  occupy.  On  reaching  it  he  paused, 


VICARIOUS  ATONEMENT       231 

for  there  had  come  a  low,  uncertain  knock  on  the 
cabin  door. 

Lest  it  be  repeated  more  loudly,  and  disturb  the 
quiet  into  which  the  room  had  finally  settled,  Donald 
forestalled  the  nurse's  act,  hurried  softly  to  the 
door,  and  opened  it  a  few  inches. 

He  started.  There,  leaning  dejectedly  against  one 
of  the  pronged  cedar  posts  on  the  tiny  stoop,  was  a 
spectre  figure,  ghastly  of  countenance  —  Judd's. 
The  doctor  read  in  it  the  awful  anguish  of  uncer- 
tainty which  had  driven  the  mountaineer,  against 
histwill,  back  to  the  cabin  which  held  for  him  either 
hope  or  blank  despair  —  and  the  man  he  hated. 

Donald  slipped  outside,  and  closed  the  door  softly 
behind  him.  He  touched  the  inert  form  on  the 
shoulder,  and  said  in  an  undertone,  "Come  with 
me  away  from  the  house,  Judd." 

The  other  followed  him,  with  dragging  feet  and 
sagging  shoulders,  his  obedience  being  like  that  of 
a  whipped  dog.  As  he  reached  the  rock  before  the 
gnarled  oak,  which,  in  happier  days,  had  been  the 
target  for  Big  Jerry's  first  practice  shot  with  the 
rifle  that  was  later  to  play  a  part  in  the  tragedy  of 
Mike's  death,  Donald  stopped  and  faced  the  man 
who  had  sworn  himself  his  mortal  enemy.  The  sight 
of  the  rock  had  re-awakened  bitter  memories;  but 
they  perished  still-born  as  his  gaze  turned  on  the 
dimly  seen  figure  beside  him. 

"Judd,"  he  began,  almost  kindly,  "you  know 
why  I  came  here  this  time?" 


232  "SMILES" 

The  other  made  an  indistinct  sound  of  assent. 

"I  ...  I  operated  on  your  little  sister's  brain, 
to-night.  Wait.  It  was  absolutely  necessary,  if 
she  were  to  have  even  a  single  chance  for  life.  She 
was  dying,  Judd.  The  operation  was  a  desperate 
one  —  a  last  resort.  I  can't  promise  you  anything 
certainly,  but  she's  still  alive,  and  I  honestly  believe 
that  she  is  going  to  live  —  and  get  well." 

For  an  instant  the  listener  stood  motionless.  Then 
his  pent-up  emotions  broke  their  bounds  in  one  deep, 
shuddering  breath,  and  he  sank  down  beside  the 
boulder,  flung  his  tensed  arms  across  it,  and  buried 
his  face  on  them. 

At  last  he  spoke,  hoarsely,  and  without  raising 
his  head.  "I  done  my  damnedest  ter  kill  ye,  an' 
now  yo'  .  .  .  yo'  saves  Lou's  life  fer  me.  I  reckon 
I  don't  know  how  ter  thank  ye,  er  repay  .  .  .  but 
.  .  .  my  life  air  yourn  ter  take  hit,  ef  yo'  likes." 

"Nonsense,"  was  the  sharp  response.  "And  as 
for  thanks,  why  I  don't  want  any.  I  did  it  for 
Smiles'  sake." 

The  kneeling  body  quivered  once;  but,  when  the 
answer  came,  it  was  uttered  in  even  tones.  "Yes, 
I  reckoned  so.  Yo'  hev  the  right  ter  do  things  fer 
her,  an'  I  ...  I  haint.  She  .  .  .  she  warnt  fer 
me  .  .  .  never.  I  warnt  never  worthy  uv  her." 

"She  isn't  for  me,  either,"  said  Donald.  "And 
besides,  I'm  no  more  worthy  of  her  than  you, 
Judd.  I  should  have  told  you  long  ago  —  I  was 
a  fool  not  to  have  done  so  —  I'm  going  to  marry 


VICARIOUS  ATONEMENT       233 

another  girl,  —  a  girl  at  home  whom  I  have  known 
all  my  life." 

"Do  Rose  know  hit?"  came  the  mountaineer's 
quick,  suspicious  query. 

"Of  course  she  does;  she's  known  it  for  a  year. 
Judd  .  .  ."  he  seated  himself  beside  the  younger 
man.  "I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  was  altogether 
to  blame  for  ...  for  what  happened  up  there  last 
summer.  I  should  have  told  you  then,  and  .  .  . 
and  I'm  sorry." 

"No,  hit  war  I  who  war  ter  blame." 

"Well,  let's  both  try  to  forget  it,  now.  You  owe 
me  nothing  for  to-night;  but  you  owe  Rose  a  debt 
of  gratitude  that  you  can  never  hope  to  pay  in  full, 
my  boy." 

"I  knows  hit.  I  kaint  never  pay  even  part  uv 
hit." 

"I  think  that  you  can." 

"How  kin  I?" 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  be  much  of  a  preacher,  but  I 
can  say  this  as  a  man,  Judd.  By  trying  to  live  the 
kind  of  a  life  she  would  have  you  live.  She  wants 
to  be  your  friend." 

"I  haint  fit  ter  be  named  friend  uv  her'n,  after 
what  I  done,"  he  replied,  dully. 

"But  we're  going  to  forget  all  about  that,  and 
certainly  she  won't  hold  it  against  you,  lad.  I 
heard  your  Mr.  Talmadge  talking  about  .  .  .  about 
religious  things,  once,  and  I  think  that,  if  he  were 
here  now,  he  would  tell  you  that  Smiles  and  little 


234  "SMILES" 

Lou,  together,  have  made  what  .  .  .  what  the 
Bible  calls  'atonement'  for  what  ...  for  what  you 
did.  Smiles'  love  and  your  baby  sister's  suffering 
have  brought  us  together;  each  has  had  a  chance 
to  realize  and  confess  that  he  was  wrong  and  had 
been  wicked ;  and  now  the  way  is  clear  for  us  to  be 
.  .  .  friends.  At  least  I'm  willing,  if  you  are,  to 
shake  on  that." 

Judd  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  his  lean  hand  shot 
out  to  grasp  the  one  which  Donald  held  out  to  him 
in  the  darkness.  And  their  firm  clasp  was  a  seal 
to  the  bond  that  the  quarrel  between  them  was  ended 
for  all  time. 

"Rose  will  be  glad,  Judd.  I  can't  let  you  see  Lou 
to-night;  but  come  to-morrow  morning  .  .  .  come 
early  before  I  leave,  and  we'll  tell  them  all  about  it, 
and  start  things  all  over  again.  Good-night,  my 
boy,"  said  Donald,  heartily. 

And  there  was  a  new  light  on  the  face  of  each 
man,  as  one  returned  to  Jerry's  cabin,  and  the  other 
strode,  with  restored  hope,  to  his  own  abode,  which 
had  been  once  so  cheerless. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
TWO  LETTERS 

THE  FIRST 

BIG  JERRY'S  CABIN, 

January  15,  1914. 

My  dear  Dr.  MacDonald, 

Although  this  is  theoretically  only  my  semi-weekly 
report,  made  in  accordance  with  your  instructions,  I  feel 
in  the  letter-writing  mood,  for  a  wonder,  so  I  may  over- 
step professional  bounds,  and  become  loquacious  —  if 
one  can  do  that  with  pen  and  ink. 

Rose  talks  about  you  so  continually  that  I  am  actu- 
ally myself  beginning  to  regard  you  as  an  intimate  friend, 
instead  of  an  austere  and  somewhat  awe-inspiring  "boss." 
I  should  probably  not  be  brave  enough  to  say  that  to 
your  face;  but  I  find  that  my  courage  rises  hi  adverse 
ratio  to  my  nearness  to  you. 

First,  however,  for  my  report.  The  little  patient  is 
still  convalescing  in  a  highly  satisfactory  manner,  and 
with  a  rapidity  which  speaks  volumes  both  for  her  own 
strong  constitution  and  this  mountain  as  a  health  resort. 

The  wound  remains  perfectly  healthy  and  is  healing 
without  suppuration  or  par  ting  —  which  "speaks  volumes" 
for  your  skill.  I  am  quite  certain  that  the  scar  will  be 
merely  a  thin  white  line,  and  not  in  the  least  a  disfigure- 
ment. The  silk  stitches  are  ready  to  be  removed  and  the 
others  nearly  dissolved. 

Yesterday  that  funny,  countrified  doctor,  from  down 
in  the  village,  came  up  to  see  her  —  fame  of  your  operation 

235 


236  "SMILES" 

having  spread.  He  "reckoned"  that  the  child's  recovery 
was  nothing  less  than  a  miracle,  and  that  he  takes  his 
hat  off  to  you.  I  told  him  that  most  physicians  did. 

He  also  "  allowed  "  that,  if  I  wanted  him  to  take  out 
the  stitches,  he  could  do  it,  but  I  "  reckoned  "  that  I  could 
attend  to  that  a  little  better  than  he.  Was  that  Use 
mafeste  ? 

I  did  my  best  to  be  very  humble,  and  said,  "Yes, 
doctor"  constantly,  and  he  tried  to  appear  very  pro- 
fessional ;  but  I  think  he  stood  a  little  in  awe  of  me. 
You  don't  know  how  I  enjoyed  the  feeling. 

But,  to  return  to  our  report.  Lou  is  gaming  strength 
rapidly ;  I  let  her  get  up  and  play  about  longer  each  day, 
and  have  reduced  the  bandages  to  the  minimum.  It  was 
most  affecting  when  they  were  removed  from  her  eyes. 
I  forgot  that  I  was  a  nurse,  and  cried  with  Smiles  until 
the  child  cried,  too,  without  having  the  slightest  idea 
why.  She  is  such  a  sweet,  merry  little  imp  that  I  do  not 
wonder  that  you  felt  more  than  mere  professional  in- 
terest in  her  case.  Every  one  here  loves  her. 

Indeed,  I  am  enchanted  with  the  place  and  people, 
and  have  made  up  my  mind  to  stay  on  a  week  or  ten  days 
after  I  call  myself  off  the  case,  and  take  a  vacation 
which  I  really  owe  to  myself. 

Poor  Big  Jerry  is  wonderful  —  so  pathetically  patient 
under  his  suffering,  which  is  now  acute.  I  am  afraid 
that  he  cannot  last  many  weeks  longer,  and,  more  than 
once,  I  have  had  to  give  him  a  hypodermic  to  deaden 
his  pain.  Somehow  he  reminds  me  of  a  huge  forest 
tree  that  has  been  struck  and  shattered  by  a  lightning 
bolt. 

Then  there  is  Judd.  Rose  says  that  he  has  been  very, 
very  wicked ;  but  that  only  adds  to  his  fascination  in  my 
eyes,  and  if  he  should  decide  some  day  to  snatch  me  up 
and  carry  me  off  bodily  to  a  cave,  I  don't  think  that  I 


TWO  LETTERS  237 

should  struggle  or  scream  very  hard.  However,  I'm 
afraid  there  is  no  chance  of  that,  as  he  apparently  doesn't 
know  that  I  exist. 

He  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  mountain  eagle,  with  those 
overhanging  brows  and  piercing,  coal-black  eyes  of  his ; 
but  I  must  admit  that  he  is  disappointingly  tame  when  he 
looks  at  Smiles  —  as  he  does  most  of  the  time,  to  my 
furious  jealousy.  Alas,  the  eagle  then  becomes  a  sucking 
dove.  She  is  apparently  oblivious  to  the  obvious  fact 
that  he  is  madly  in  love  with  her.  Poor  Judd ! 

Last,  but  by  no  means  least,  there  is  Smiles  herself. 
I  wish  that  I  could  adequately  express  my  thoughts  about 
her,  but  I  can't.  However,  I  no  longer  wonder  how  a 
mountain  child  like  that  could  have  captivated  you  so, 
as  I  did  when  you  first  described  her  to  me. 

She  is  adorable.  For  the  life  of  me  I  can't  understand 
how  a  girl,  bred  in  this  wilderness,  could  have  such  a  fine 
soul  and  personality  —  not  to  speak  of  her  intellect, 
which  daily  startles  me  more.  But,  of  course,  she  is 
of  cultured  stock  —  she  must  be  —  and  I  have  always 
believed  that  the  forces  of  heredity  are  paramount 
to  those  of  environment.  Do  I  sound  like  a  school- 
mar'm?  Well,  that  is  what  I  am. 

It  may  surprise  you  to  learn,  as  much  as  it  does  me 
to  realize,  that  I  have  turned  back  to  schooldays  with 
an  enthusiasm  which  I  never  felt  when  I  was  going  through 
them,  and  that  I  spend  more  time  as  a  teacher  than  as 
a  nurse.  Smiles  simply  absorbs  education  —  I  never 
knew  anything  like  it  —  and  I  am  as  confident  as  she  that 
her  dream  of  going  through  the  "C.  H."  and  becoming  a 
trained  nurse,  will  come  to  pass.  And  won't  she  make  a 
wonderful  one?  Be  warned  that  when  she  does  go  north 
I  intend  to  dispute  with  you  the  right  to  regard  her  as  a 
protege. 

I  couldn't  love  her  as  I  do,  already,  if  she  were  not  so 


£38  "SMILES" 

completely  human,  and  it  amuses  me  immensely  the  way 
she  wheedles  the  natives  and  keeps  them  in  good  humor 
by  using  that  comical  mountain  lingo  —  although  she  can 
speak  as  grammatically  as  any  one,  when  she  wants  to. 
She  just  smiles  at  one  of  them,  and  says,  "Now  haint  thet 
jest  toe  sweet  of  ye,"  and  they  fall  down  and  worship. 

Don't  be  surprised  if  you  hear  me  say  some  day, 
"Wall,  doctor,  thet  air  shor'  er  powerful  preety  opera- 
tion, an'  I  air  plumb  obleeged  ter  ye  fer  thet  yo'  let  me 
holp  ye  with  hit."  I'm  catching  it,  too. 

I  hope  that  you  will  forgive  the  liberties  which  I  have 
taken  in  writing  like  this,  but  I  had  to  do  it. 

Sincerely  yours, 

GERTRUDE  MERRIMAN. 

P.S.  You  were  right  in  your  conjecture.  Since  you  would 
not  accept  the  whole,  or  any  part  of  Smiles'  precious 
savings  —  and  your  refusal  nearly  broke  her  heart  until 
I  made  her  understand  that  physicians  never  charged 
members  of  their  family  —  she  wanted  me  to  take  it. 

THE  SECOND 

WEBB'S  GAP, 

Jan.  22,  1914 
Dearest  Doctor  Mac, 

My  heart  is  broken.  Dear  granddaddy  died  last 
night.  Of  course  I  know  that  it  had  to  be,  and  that  he 
is  so  much  happier  now  in  the  spirit  body,  and  with  Ma 
Webb  (he  talked  about  her  all  yesterday,  and  I  really 
think  that  his  soul  was  speaking  with  hers)  ;  but  he  was 
so  dear  to  me  that  I  can  hardly  bear  to  think  that  he  has 
gone  away. 

Wasn't  he  a  splendid  man,  Don?  I  am  sure  that 
there  could  not  have  been  any  better,  nobler  men,  even 
in  the  city,  and  I  know  that  you  loved  him,  too. 


TWO   LETTERS  239 

Before  he  died  he  told  me  all  the  wonderful  things  that 
he  had  done  for  me,  although  I  did  not  deserve  it  —  how 
he  had  left  me  all  that  money  and  made  you  my  guardian. 
I  am  so  glad  for  that. 

He  was  in  terrible  pain  toward  the  end,  and  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  without  dear  Miss  Merri- 
man  who  stayed  on  purpose  to  help  me.  I  think  that 
God  sent  her  here  special.  And  she  has  helped  me  in 
so  many  other  ways  too  —  especially  with  my  studying. 
She  is  sure  that  I  will  be  able  to  pass  that  awful  examina- 
tion, although  it  frightens  me.  Oh,  if  I  can,  I  can  take 
that  hospital  training  and  be  a  nurse  at  last,  for  I  am  rich 
now.  Just  think,  dear  granddaddy  left  me  more  than  a 
thousand  dollars  —  and  I  have  my  basket  money,  besides ! 

And  so,  dear  Donald,  the  first  part  of  my  great  dream 
is  really  coming  true.  It  isn't  just  the  way  I  dreamed  it, 
for  I  didn't  mean  for  granddaddy  to  be  dead ;  but  I  guess 
things  never  happen  just  as  we  plan.  When  we  look 
forward  to  something  pleasant,  which  we  want  very  much 
to  happen,  we  never  think  that  there  may  be  unhappiness 
mixed  with  it  —  perhaps  it  is  better  that  way,  for  if  we 
did  we  wouldn't  work  so  hard  to  make  it  come  to  pass. 

I  am  afraid  that  I  have  not  said  that  very  well ;  but 
I  feel  that  it  is  so,  now.  I  am  going  to  Boston;  I  will 
be  near  you,  and  will  learn  to  do  the  work  I  love ;  but  now 
I  realize  that  I  could  never,  never  have  done  it  until 
granddaddy  went  away.  So  that  is  the  shadow  on  my 
golden  dream. 

And  last  night  there  came  the  great  sorrow  that  I 
have  been  dreading  so  many  months;  and  yet  I  know 
that  he  is  happier,  and  I  have  you  and  Miss  Merriman,  and 
the  work  I  am  going  to  do,  to  make  me  forget  —  not  him, 
but  my  sorrow  —  and  take  the  pain  from  my  heart. 

Little  Lou  is  almost  well  again,  and  both  she  and 
Judd  are  going  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Andrews  the  rest  of 


240  "SMILES" 

the  winter.    And,  oh,  Doctor  Mac.,  he  has  promised  me 
never  to  make  white  liquor  again. 

I  have  saved  the  best  news  for  the  last.  Miss  Merriman 
is  going  to  take  me  to  Boston  with  her.  She  says  that  her 
family  have  taken  an  apartment  in  the  city,  and  that 
I  may  live  with  them  until  I  get  into  the  hospital.  This 
makes  me  very  happy,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  be  pleased, 
too. 

I  know  that  everything  is  going  to  be  very  different 
there  in  Boston,  and  that  you  are  so  busy  that  I  cannot 
see  you  very  often,  and,  besides,  when  I  do  get  into  the 
hospital  I  must  be  careful  to  remember  that  you  are  a 
very  great  doctor  and  I  am  only  one  of  many  probationers 
(Miss  Merriman  told  me  the  word).  But,  although  we 
cannot  be  chums  like  we  have  been,  you  must  never 
forget  that  I  am  always 

Your  loving  foster-sister, 
SMILES. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

NEW   SCENES,   NEW  FRIENDS 

So  another  leaf  was  turned  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 
and  Smiles'  life  underwent  another  metamorphosis 
as  complete  as  the  one  fifteen  years  previous. 

There  was  a  sudden  severance  of  all  old  ties, 
save  that  of  memory,  an  abrupt  entrance  into  a  new 
existence,  so  utterly  different  from  the  one  that  she 
had  known  that  it  could  scarcely  have  seemed  stranger 
to  her  if  she  had  actually  been  translated  into  another 
sphere. 

Yet  that  same  Fate,  which  had  tried  her  heart  in 
its  crucible  fires,  and  found  its  gold  as  unalloyed  as 
her  smile,  now  smiled,  in  turn,  and  Rose  was  deeply 
appreciative  of  that  fact.  She  knew  that  hi  Gertrude 
Merriman  she  had  found  a  friend  who  was  a  blessed 
comforter  for  her  in  her  days  of  trial ;  in  truth,  the 
nurse  was  destined  to  be  more  than  that,  a  wise  coun- 
sellor as  well.  Herself  a  girl  of  breeding,  a  college 
graduate,  and  a  product  of  the  same  mill  through 
which  the  mountain  child  had  set  her  heart  and  fixed 
her  mind  upon  going,  she  would  be  able  to  smooth 
many  a  rough  spot  from  that  path  which  Donald 
had  pictured  in  his  allegory,  draw  the  thorns  from 
many  a  bramble. 

241 


242  "SMILES" 

For  the  first  time  Rose  parted  from  the  friends  whom 
she  had  known  practically  all  her  life,  and  from  the 
rugged,  picturesque  mountain  which  had  been  home 
to  her,  and  turned  her  face  toward  a  new  life.  Like 
a  child  venturing  into  the  fairyland  of  dreams,  she 
journeyed  with  her  companion  through  the  teeming 
cities  of  the  East,  Miss  Merriman  so  arranging 
it  that  they  should  spend  a  day  in  each,  for  —  with 
wisdom  born  of  experience  —  she  realized  that  such 
travel  was  in  itself  a  broadening  education,  and  that, 
moreover,  in  the  new  wonders  and  new  delights  which 
each  hour  held,  Smiles'  grief  would  find  its  best  as- 
suagement. 

There  was  another  reason  in  Miss  Merriman's 
mind  for  making  the  trip  a  leisurely  one.  She  knew 
that  the  girl  was  as  far  from  being  ready  to  step  into 
the  new  existence,  without  material  readjustment 
in  her  manners,  as  she  was  already  mentally  removed 
from  the  old.  To  be  sure,  she  possessed  a  natural 
grace  of  manner  which  could  not  but  charm  any  one 
who  met  her;  but  she  was  almost  as  free  from  ex- 
ternal conventions  as  one  of  her  own  wild  birds, 
except  for  the  few  which  she  had  unconsciously  ac- 
quired by  her  association  with  the  older  woman,  and 
with  Donald ;  and,  in  her  love  for,  and  pride  in,  her 
protege,  Miss  Merriman  wanted  Rose  to  be  able  to 
fit,  without  embarrassment,  into  whatever  company 
she  might  find  herself. 

Hers  was  a  comparatively  easy  task,  for  Smiles 
took  to  "manners"  as  readily  as  a  chameleon  adapts 


NEW  SCENES,   NEW  FRIENDS    243 

its  exterior  to  suit  the  color  of  its  surroundings.  In 
the  woods  she  had  learned  to  mimic  the  note  of  the 
birds  or  the  chattering  of  the  squirrels ;  in  the  hotel 
dining-room  she  copied  the  behavior  of  her  companion 
just  as  faithfully,  and  if,  on  occasion,  she  found  her- 
self perplexed  as  to  the  proper  use  of  some  strange 
implement  of  eating,  she  frankly,  and  without  a 
thought  of  embarrassment,  sought  information  on 
the  subject.  People  regarded  her  with  open  amuse- 
ment, sometimes ;  but  more  often  their  gaze  spelt 
admiration,  and  Rose  was  happily  unconscious  of 
both  kinds  of  glances. 

Furthermore,  in  obedience  to  instructions  from 
Donald,  contained  in  a  special  delivery  letter  which 
reached  her  just  before  they  started  North,  and  in 
which  he  purported  to  be  speaking  and  acting  as  the 
child's  guardian  ipso  facto,  Miss  Merriman  fitted 
her  charge  out  with  a  simple,  but  complete,  ward- 
robe, to  Smiles'  never-failing  surprise  and  delight 
*  hat  so  many  pretty  things  should  be  all  her  own. 

When  the  two  were  ready  to  leave  the  metropolis  — 
frhose  size,  splendor  and  feverish  bustle  left  Smiles 
mentally  gasping  —  the  nurse  sent  a  telegram  to 
Donald,  and  one  raw  February  evening  found  him 
impatiently  pacing  the  South  Terminal  Station, 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  train  from  New  York. 

Six  months  before,  the  prospect  of  some  day  being 
Smiles'  guardian  had  seemed  vaguely  pleasant. 
Now  it  was  an  immediate  fact,  and  the  responsibili- 
ties engendered,  the  possible  difficulties  attendant  on 


244  "SMILES" 


it,  lay  heavily  upon  his  mind.  He,  too,  thanked 
Heaven  for  Miss  Merriman. 

The  train  gates  were  opened  at  last,  and  Donald 
hastened  down  the  long  platform,  his  eyes  searching 
eagerly  for  those  whom  he  sought.  They  fell  first 
upon  the  nurse,  just  descending  the  steps,  then  turned 
and  stayed  upon  the  graceful,  slender  figure  which 
followed  her.  Was  it  really  Rose?  Could  that 
young  woman,  clad  in  a  simple  black  travelling  dress 
and  long  coat  which,  even  to  his  masculine  percep- 
tion, appeared  modishly  stylish  and  amazingly  be- 
coming, be  the  mountain  child  whom  his  memory 
clothed  in  home-made  calico?  Her  face  was  un- 
wontedly  pale  beneath  the  small,  close-fitting  black  hat, 
yet  it  was  so  utterly  sweet  that  Donald  felt  his  pulses 
start  again  with  the  old  strange  thrill. 

If  his  mind  harbored  any  idea  that  she  might  run 
into  his  embrace,  it  was  doomed  to  disappointment, 
for,  with  the  habiliments  of  city  civilization,  Smiles 
had  acquired  its  reserve.  Her  greeting  was  a  very 
demure  and  somewhat  weary  one,  —  it  both  pleased 
and  irritated  him,  somehow.  Indeed,  she  spoke 
scarcely  a  word,  and  it  was  not  until  they  had  finished 
dinner  in  the  quiet,  homelike  hotel,  whither  Donald 
had  taken  them,  that  her  new  shyness  began  to  yield 
to  his  presence.  Then  the  story  of  the  marvels 
which  her  eyes  had  beheld  came  pouring  forth  with 
all  the  old-time  childlike  eagerness. 

When  they  were  nearly  ready  to  leave,  Miss  Merri- 
man said,  with  a  half  real,  half  assumed  show  of 


NEW  SCENES,   NEW  FRIENDS    245 

firmness,  "Now,  Doctor  MacDonald,  since  I  am  off 
duty  I  can  speak  my  mind  plainly,  and  I  mean  to. 
I  know  that  you  are  Smiles'  guardian  ;  but  you  can't 
have  her.  She's  mine,  and  she's  going  to  live  with 
my  family  until  she  enters  the  hospital.  So  there." 

Donald  breathed  a  mental  sigh  of  relief,  and  re- 
sponded, laughingly,  "And  I,  apparently,  haven't 
anything  to  say  about  it!  Oh,  very  well.  I've 
lived  long  enough  to  learn  that  there  is  no  use  arguing 
with  a  woman,  so  I  yield  gracefully,  although  I'm 
afraid  that  it  is  establishing  a  bad  precedent.  If 
I  begin  to  take  orders  from  you  like  this,  it  is  going  to 
be  hard  to  put  you  back  in  your  place  and  to  act  the 
role  of  stern  superior  myself.  I  warn  you,  though, 
that  I  mean  to  get  even  with  you  on  our  next  case, 
so  prepare  yourself  to  be  bullied  frightfully. 

"You  see  what  a  horrible  disposition  I  really  have, 
little  sister,"  he  added,  smiling  at  Rose,  who  informed 
him  that  she  was  not  in  the  least  frightened,  and  to 
prove  it,  slipped  her  hand  into  his  for  a  moment  with 
the  childlike  confidence  that  he  loved. 

So  it  was  arranged ;  a  taxicab  bore  them  to  the 
homey  little  apartment  in  the  Fenway,  where  Smiles 
was  taken  to  Mrs.  Merriman's  maternal  bosom,  and, 
after  humbly  begging  his  ward  from  them  for  the 
next  afternoon,  when  he  meant  to  introduce  her  to 
his  family,  Donald  departed,  whistling. 

Tired,  but  strangely  contented,  Rose  was  at  last 
shown  to  her  dainty  pink  and  white  bedroom,  with 
its  inviting  brass  bed,  beside  which  she  knelt  for  a 


246  "SMILES" 

long  time  in  thankful  prayer.  Nor  was  it  strange, 
perhaps,  that  her  pillow  was  moist  with  tears  of 
gratitude  and  happiness  before  she  fell  asleep. 

Smiles  awoke  early.  The  air  in  the  room  was  very 
cold,  but  during  her  trip  northward  she  had  learned 
the  mysteries  of  steam  radiators,  and  she  sprang  up, 
closed  the  windows,  and  turned  on  the  heat  with  a 
little  silent  laugh  as  her  thoughts  travelled  back  to 
the  rude  cabin  on  the  mountain.  In  memory  she 
saw  herself  crawl  shiveringly  from  her  bed,  in  the  cold 
gray  of  a  Winter  daybreak,  clad  only  in  a  plain  night- 
gown, to  build  a  blaze  in  the  big  stone  fireplace  so 
that  the  room  might  be  warm  for  Big  Jerry  when  he 
awoke.  The  smile  faded  from  her  lips,  and  they 
trembled  slightly  as  she  whispered  his  name.  Poor 
grandpap,  he  had  suffered  sadly  from  the  cold  during 
those  last  few  months  when  he  could  not  keep  the 
circulation  up  in  his  massive  body  by  accustomed 
exercise. 

Below  her  lay  the  still  sleeping  city.  Snow  covered 
the  untenanted  portions  of  the  Fens,  and  hid  its  ugly 
nakedness  with  a  soft  mantle,  which  seemed  to  hold 
a  silken  sheen,  as  the  first  flush  of  morning  touched 
it.  How  strange  all  her  surroundings  appeared. 
Gone  was  the  far  sweeping  expanse  of  forest-clad 
mountain  side,  stretching  off  to  the  sunrise;  in  its 
place  lay  a  level  space  closed  in  by  substantial  build- 
ings of  marble,  granite  and  brick  —  the  Art  Museum, 
Latin  School  and  clustered  hospitals,  —  their  walls 
changing  from  ghostly  gray  to  growing  rose  and  gold. 


NEW  SCENES,   NEW  FRIENDS    247 

She  drew  a  comfortable  dressing  gown  —  the  gift  of 
her  new  friend  —  about  her  girlish  form,  and  sat 
down  by  the  window  in  the  familiar  posture  with  her 
chin  on  her  cupped  hands.  By  Miss  Merriman's 
description  of  the  view  which  the  window  gave  upon 
she  recognized  the  creamy  brick  building  of  the  Chil- 
dren's Hospital,  snuggled  like  a  gentle  sister  by  the 
side  of  the  impressive  marble  walls  of  its  big  brother, 
the  Harvard  Medical  School,  and,  as  the  light  grew 
gave  definition  to  its  outlines,  she  felt  as  though  it 
were  actually  drawing  nearer  to  her.  In  imagina- 
tion she  went  to  meet  it;  she  entered  its  doors  and 
took  her  place  among  those  who  toiled  there  with 
loving  hearts  and  skilful  hands;  and  thus  Miss 
Merriman  found  her,  half  an  hour  later,  when  she, 
similarly  clad,  came  to  bid  her  little  guest  good 
morning.  With  silent  understanding,  which  is  born 
of  true  companionship,  she  drew  the  girl  into  her 
arms. 

"I'm  not  going  to  let  you  do  a  single  thing  but 
rest  this  morning,"  she  said  at  length.  "You  look 
pale  and  tired  still  —  like  a  very  white  rose  —  and  I 
want  you  to  appear  your  very  sweetest  when  you  go 
to  meet  Dr.  MaeDonald's  family  this  afternoon,  dear. 
Come,  let's  decide  what  you  shall  wear.  The  black 
silk  that  we  bought  in  New  York?" 

Smiles  hesitated.  "I  think  that  .  .  .  would  it 
be  all  right  if  I  wore  that  pretty  white  woollen  one?" 

"Why,  yes,  if  you  like,  but  it  is  very  plain  and 
simple." 


248  "SMILES" 


"And  so  am  I,"  laughed  Rose  a  bit  unsteadily. 
"I  want  them  to  see  me  just  as  I  am,  and  ....  Oh, 
how  I  hope  that  they  will  like  me !" 

"Never  fear.  They  will,"  answered  Miss  Mem- 
man,  giving  her  a  reassuring  kiss. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  very  quiet  and  timid  Smiles 
who  sat  beside  Donald  in  his  coupe  at  four  that 
afternoon,  as  he  drove  to  the  richly  sombre  home  on 
Beacon  Street,  where  had  dwelt  many  generations  of 
Thayers.  He,  too,  although  he  attempted  to  be 
jovial,  was  strangely  uneasy. 

•"You  chump  !"  he^said  to  himself.  "You're  more 
disturbed  about  whether  this  child  will  make  a  good 
impression,  than  you  would  be  over  performing  a 
major  operation.  Supposing  that  Ethel  doesn't  go 
wild  about  her,  what  of  it?" 

A  trim  maid  ushered  them  into  the  drawing  room, 
where  softly  shaded  lights  were  already  burning,  for 
the  afternoon  was  dull  and  gray,  and  they  gave  a 
mellow  homelike  appearance  to  the  mahogany  furni- 
ture, rich  tapestries,  oriental  rugs  and  costly  paint- 
ings. Ethel,  Mr.  MacDonald,  Senior,  and  little 
Muriel  were  in  the  room  when  Donald  entered  with 
the  girl's  slim  hand  held  tightly  in  his,  for  she  had 
slipped  it  there  impulsively,  just  as  he  stepped 
through  the  broad  doorway. 

"This,"  he  said  simply,  "is  Smiles." 

They  all  arose,  and  Ethel  stepped  quickly  forward 
with  outstretched  hands.  She  had  told  herself  that 
she  meant  to  be  very  kind  to  the  little  savage  to  whom 


NEW  SCENES,   NEW  FRIENDS    249 

her  brother  had  taken  such  an  astonishing  fancy; 
but  now,  something  in  the  slender  form  and  the  half- 
frightened  expression  in  the  pale,  sweet  face  caused 
her  to  forget  everything  else  except  that  the  stranger 
was  alone  and  ill  at  ease.  Both  her  arms  went  out 
to  Rose  with  a  motherly  gesture,  and,  as  she  drew 
her  within  them,  she  said,  "Why,  my  dear  child." 

"Yes,  she  is  a  child,"  broke  in  Muriel,  eagerly 
seizing  one  of  Smiles'  hands.  "  I  thought  that  she  was 
a  grown-up  woman;  but  see,  she  wears  her  hair 
down  on  her  neck  just  like  a  school  girl." 

Let  it  be  said  that  Miss  Merriman  had  caught  the 
note  struck  by  Rose  that  morning,  and  had  arrayed 
her  to  appear  as  young  and  simple  as  possible. 

"A  child ?  Of  course  she  is,"  echoed  Mr. MacDonald 
in  a  hearty  voice.  "My  dear,  Donald  has  told  us 
so  much  about  you  that  I  feel  almost  as  though  I 
had  known  you  all  your  life.  But,"  he  added  with 
little  wrinkles  forming  at  the  corners  of  his  kindly 
gray  eyes,  "I  would  like  to  have  seen  you,  as  my  son 
did  first,  in  that  one-piece  calico  dress.  He  described 
the  picture  that  you  made  very  graphically." 

"Oh,  look,  mother.  She's  going  to  smile.  Re- 
member how  pretty  Uncle  Don  told  us  she  looked 
when  .  .  .  ." 

Rose's  shyly  budding  smile  changed  to  silvery 
laughter  in  which  all  the  rest  joined,  and  with  it 
was  sealed  the  bond  of  an  enduring  friendship. 
Then  baby  Don  was  brought  down  from  the  nursery 
for  inspection  and,  before  he  had  been  contentedly 


250  "SMILES" 

curled  in  the  newcomer's  ai-ms  many  minutes,  he  was 
actually  trying  to  lisp  "Mitath,"  which  Ethel  proudly 
pronounced  to  be  the  first  articulate  word  in  his 
vocabulary,  if  those  universal  sounds,  which  doting 
parents  have  ever  taken  to  mean  Mother  and  Father, 
be  excepted.  He  liked  it  so  well  that  he  insisted  upon 
repeating  it  over  and  over  with  eyes  screwed  up 
tight  and  mouth  opened  very  wide,  which  gave  him 
so  comical  an  expression  that  every  one  laughed, 
including  himself. 

Manlike,  Donald  had  planned  to  get  all  the  meet- 
ings over  with  at  once,  and  had  asked  his  sister  to 
invite  Marion  in  for  afternoon  tea  and  to  meet  his 
"protege  and  prodigy"  —  as  Ethd  had  phrased  it 
in  her  invitation.  He  had,  however,  purposely  re- 
frained from  mentioning  the  fact  to  Rose,  and  when 
Miss  Treville  entered,  stately  as  a  goddess,  very 
beautiful  and  a  trifle  condescending  in  manner,  as 
she  extended  her  white-gloved  hand  and  said,  "So 
this  is  little  Rose,"  the  girl  felt  a  sudden  chill  succeed 
the  warmth  of  hospitality  which  had  served  to  banish 
all  her  timid  reserve,  had  brought  a  glow  of  happy 
color  to  her  cheeks  and  a  sparkle  to  her  luminous 
eyes,  and  had  made  her  as  wholly  natural  as  she  would 
have  been  at  home  among  her  simple  neighbors  of 
the  mountains. 

Donald  felt  the  psychological  change,  and  sensed 
the  reason  for  it;  but  although,  in  a  clumsy  manner, 
he  did  his  best  to  restore  the  atmosphere  of  comrade- 
ship, he  knew  that  he  was  failing.  Marion  also 


NEW   SCENES,   NEW   FRIENDS    251 

tried,  and  tried  sincerely,  to  bring  Rose  into  the  con- 
versation ;  but  the  girl  had  become  embarrassed  and 
silent,  and  to  her  own  surprise  the  society  woman 
vaguely  realized  that  she,  too,  was  embarrassed  and 
not  at  her  best.  She  tried  to  shake  off  the  feeling 
with  the  thought  that  it  was  absurd  that  one  who  had 
been  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  royalty  should  feel 
so  in  that  of  a  simple  mountain  girl;  but  she  could 
not  wholly  banish  the  feeling  or  the  impression  that 
the  girl's  deep,  unusual  eyes  were  looking  down 
beneath  the  surface,  which  she  knew  was  perfectly 
appointed  —  had  she  not,  for  no  reason  at  all  she 
told  herself,  taken  special  pains  in  dressing  ?  —  and 
that,  although  there  was  something  of  awed  admira- 
tion in  her  frank  gaze,  it  also  held  a  suggestion  of 
something  which  was  not  entirely  approval.  Donald 
felt  it,  too,  and  it  irritated  him ;  so  much  so  that  he 
was  frankly  glad  when  his  fiancee  announced  that 
she  must  depart  to  attend  a  social  engagement. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  ashamed  of  such  a 
feeling  that  he  kissed  her  with  unusual  warmth,  as 
he  handed  her  into  the  waiting  motor  car,  and  he 
found  himself  flushing  deeply,  without  reason,  when 
he  returned  to  the  drawing  room  and  saw  Rose 
standing  by  one  of  the  windows,  looking  out  at  the 
departing  limousine  with  its  two  liveried  attendants. 

"She  is  very  beautiful,"  the  girl  whispered  to  him, 
as  he  joined  her. 

There  was  another  guest  that  afternoon,  who  came 
in,  unexpectedly  —  a  young  man,  in  appearance 


252  "SMILES" 

Donald's  antithesis,  for,  although  he  was  of  more 
than  medium  height,  he  was  slender  and  almost  as 
graceful  as  a  woman.  Wavy  light  hair  crowned  a 
merry,  boyish  face  which,  with  its  remarkably  blue 
eyes,  was  almost  too  good  looking  for  a  man,  although 
saved  from  a  hint  of  weakness  by  a  firm,  well-rounded 
chin. 

"Called  at  your  office  and  learned  that  you  were 
loafing  on  the  job  again,  and  that  I  might  find  you 
up  here,  visiting  a  baby  —  for  a  change,"  he  ran  on, 
as  he  entered  after  the  manner  of  one  who  feels  him- 
self perfectly  at  home.  Then  he  caught  sight  of 
Rose,  blushed  like  a  girl  himself  and  stammered, 
"Oh,  I  beg  pardon.  I  didn't  know  that  I  was  .  .  .  ," 

"You're  not,"  laughed  Donald,  seizing  the  new- 
comer's hand  with  a  vicelike  grasp.  "Come  in. 
I've  told  you  about  my  little  mountain  rose,  and 
now  is  your  chance  to  meet  her,  for  here  she  is. 
Smiles,  this  is  my  closest  friend  and  associate,  Dr. 
Philip  Bentley  —  the  man  who  steps  into  my  shoes 
when  I  am  summarily  ordered  to  board  the  next 
train  for  the  Cumberland  Mountains,  or  elsewhere." 

"Who  steps  into  his  practice,  perhaps,  but  not  into 
his  shoes,  Miss  Rose,"  added  the  other.  "I  could  not 
fill  them,  figuratively  or  physically." 

"Go  ahead,  make  all  the  fun  of  me  that  you  like," 
answered  Donald.  "I'm  not  ashamed  of  having  a 
broad  understanding." 

"You  would  not  think  Dr.  Donald's  boots  large 
if  you  could  have  seen  my  Granddaddy's,"  interposed 


NEW  SCENES,   NEW  FRIENDS     253 

Smiles,  pretending  to  think  that  reflection  was  being 
cast  upon  her  idol.  "I  could  get  both  my  feet  inside 
one  of  them  —  really  I  could." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  answered  Philip  with  a  return  to 
seriousness.  And  the  girl  hastily  tucked  her  diminu- 
tive shoes  underneath  her  chair,  as  she  saw  the 
man's  gaze  fastened  upon  them. 

For  nearly  an  hour  she  lived  in  unaccustomed 
delight,  as  she  listened  to  the  merry  badinage  of 
this  group  of  educated  city  dwellers  and,  although 
it  was  something  new  to  her,  her  quick  mind  soon 
realized  that  Philip  was  a  most  entertaining  con- 
versationalist, with  a  wit  like  a  rapier  which  flashed 
and  touched,  but  never  hurt,  and  that  Donald,  in 
his  slower  way,  possessed  a  dry  humor  which  she  had 
not  suspected.  At  the  end  of  that  time  a  tele- 
phone call  came  for  Donald  which  sent  him  forth, 
pretending  to  grumble  over  the  lack  of  consideration 
of  modern  children,  who  insisted  upon  getting  sick  at 
the  most  inconvenient  times,  and  of  their  parents, 
who  permitted  it. 

"Your  loss,  my  gain,"  chuckled  Philip.  "I'll 
be  only  too  pleased  to  take  Miss  Rose  home." 

"Indeed,  I'll  not  allow  such  a  thing,"  promptly 
responded  Ethel.  "Rose  stays  here  for  dinner,  and 
you're  not  invited.  This  is  to  be  strictly  a  family 
party." 

" '  Family  ? '  Is  Don  going  to  be  a  Mormon,  then  ?  " 
challenged  Philip. 

It  was  Rose,  who  —  blushing  prettily  —  answered, 


254  "SMILES" 

"I  hope  not,  for  he  is  my  brother,  too,  by  blood 
adoption."  And  she  told  the  story. 

"Then  why  can't  /be?  I'm  ready,  nay,  anxious, 
to  shed  quarts  and  quarts  of  blood  to  attain  a  like 
relationship,"  persisted  Philip.  And  thus  the  con- 
versation ran  on  through  dinner,  for  Ethel  relented 
and  allowed  Dr.  Bentley  to  remain,  and,  as  Donald 
was  again  summoned  away,  it  was  he  who,  after 
all,  took  Rose  to  the  Merriman  apartment. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  in  telling  Gertrude  all  about  it, 
"I  think  that  it  was  the  happiest  evening  I  ever 
spent,  or  it  -would  have  been  if  Big  Jerry  might  only 
have  been  there,  too." 

A  slight  suggestion  of  a  smile  passed  over  the  face 
of  the  older  woman  as  she  pictured  the  mountaineer 
in  a  Beacon  Street  drawing  room.  Rose  saw,  and 
interpreted  it. 

"Grandpap  would  not  have  been  out  of  place 
there,  or  in  a  king's  palace.  He  was  a  king,  Miss 
Merriman." 

"Yes,  dear,  he  truly  was,"  the  other  responded 
seriously. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Isn't  Dr.  Bentley  nice,"  said  Smiles,  softly.  "He 
must  be  splendid,  for  Dr.  Donald  likes  him  a  lot." 

"He  likes  you  a  lot,  too!  My,  aren't  we  vain?" 
smiled  Gertrude. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  think  how  that  was  going  to  sound  !" 

Rose's  distress  was  real  and  the  other  hastened  to 
say,  "Yes,  Dr.  Bentley  is  splendid.  We  used  to 


NEW   SCENES,   NEW  FRIENDS    255 

call  them  'David  and  Jonathan,'  for  they  were  always 
together,  and,  before  Dr.  McDonald  become  engaged, 
we  said  that  neither  would  ever  marry,  since  they 
couldn't  marry  each  other.  Now  I  suppose  that  Dr. 
Bentley  will  be  looking  around  for  consolation. 
Perhaps  .  .  .  ." 

" Don't  be  silly,"  laughed  Smiles.    But  she  became 
suddenly  silent  again. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   FIRST  MILESTONE 

THREE  months  sped  by  and  were  gone  like  a 
dream. 

Day  after  day,  until  should  come  that  longed- 
for,  yet  dreaded  test,  Rose  studied  with  a  diligence 
that  delighted  the  private  tutor  whom  Donald, 
through  Miss  Merriman,  had  secured  for  her  —  a 
young  woman  who  found  herself  astonished  by  her 
pupil's  avidity  in  seeking  knowledge. 

The  passing  days  were  not,  however,  wholly  dedi- 
cated to  the  books  which  held  for  Smiles  the  key  to 
the  citadel  she  sought  to  possess. 

Other  doors  and  other  hearts  were  open  to  her, 
and,  because  of  her  simple  charm,  Donald's  family 
welcomed  her  as  a  visitor  whose  every  advent  in 
the  city  home  seemed  to  bring  a  fresh  breath  from 
the  hills  and  open  spaces.  Little  Muriel,  who  had 
loved  her  unseen,  worshipped  her  on  sight,  and  Ethel, 
happy  in  Donald's  betrothal  to  Marion  Treville, 
would  have  been  glad  to  have  had  her  with  them  far 
more  often  than  she  would  consent  to  come. 

Long  walks  she  took,  too,  regardless  of  weather, 
swinging  freely  along  on  voyages  of  discovery;  los- 
ing herself  often  hi  Boston's  impossible  streets,  only 

256 


THE  FIRST  MILESTONE        257 

to  find  her  way  back  home  with  the  instinct  for 
direction  of  one  bred  amid  forests,  trackless,  save  for 
infrequent  blind  and  tortuous  paths.  And  soon  the 
historic,  homey  city  cast  its  strange  spell  over  her 
heart,  and  claimed  her  for  its  own. 

Spring  came  at  last,  not  the  verdant,  glorious,  festal 
virgin  of  the  Southland,  but  the  hesitant,  bashfully 
reserved  maiden  so  typical  of  New  England,  and 
Miss  Merriman  finally  reported  to  Donald  that 
their  joint  protege  seemed  to  be  fairly  prepared  for 
the  test  which  she  had  come  so  far  to  take. 

There  are  no  rules,  born  of  reason,  which  cannot 
yield  to  reasonable  exceptions,  and,  although  the 
entrance  requirements  of  the  training  school  were 
as  exacting  as  its  course,  and  as  strict  as  its  standard, 
a  standard  which  had  long  since  made  it  the  peer  of 
any  in  all  America,  some  of  the  purely  technical 
ones  were  waived  upon  the  request  of  the  idolized 
chief  junior  surgeon  on  the  staff,  for  Donald  went 
personally  to  the  Superintendent  and  explained  the 
case  to  her,  and  she  agreed  to  allow  Rose  to  take  a 
special  examination;  but  she  shook  her  head  when 
he  mentioned  the  girl's  age. 

"Of  course  you  know  what  the  requirements  are 
in  that  respect,  doctor,"  she  said.  "We  make  excep- 
tions, yes ;  but,  if  she  enters  now,  she  will  be  by  far 
the  youngest  girl  in  the  school.  I  think  that,  before 
I  give  you  my  decision,  I  shall  have  to  see  and  talk 
with  her." 

Accordingly,  that   afternoon   he   took   the   rather 


258  "SMILES" 


frightened  Smiles  to  the  Superintendent  of  nurses, 
and  left  them  closeted  together. 

"Dr.  MacDonald  has  told  me  about  you,  and  your 
ambition,  Miss  Webb,"  said  the  Superintendent 
kindly.  "You  have  been  very  courageous;  but 
you  are  very  young,  even  younger  than  I  thought. 
Now  I  want  you  to  tell  me  frankly  just  what  your 
life  has  been,  so  that  I  may  judge  as  to  your  other 
qualifications,  before  deciding  whether  it  is  wise 
for  you  to  take  the  examinations." 

Rose  began  hesitatingly;  but,  as  the  other  drew 
her  out  with  judicious  questions,  she  told  her  story 
with  simple  directness,  and,  before  long,  the  Super- 
intendent had  come  to  a  realization  that  the  little 
mountain  girl  —  whose  life  had,  for  so  long,  been 
one  of  unusual  responsibilities  —  had  already  acquired 
an  uncommon  maturity  of  judgment.  Although  she 
was  still  some  eighteen  months  below  the  prescribed 
age  for  entering,  she  received  the  other's  hesitating 
permission  to  make  the  essay. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  decide  who  felt  the  greater 
nervousness  during  the  period  of  Smiles'  written 
examination,  and  the  time  which  had  to  elapse 
before  word  came  as  to  the  result  — « Rose,  Miss 
Merriman  or  Donald.  It  was  the  last  who  heard 
first.  The  Superintendent  invited  him  into  her 
office,  as  he  was  passing  through  the  hospital  corridor 
one  day,  and  said,  "I  am  sure  that  you  will  be  pleased 
to  hear  that  Miss  Webb  has  passed  her  tests  with 
flying  colors,  doctor." 


THE  FIRST  MILESTONE        259 

A  warmth  of  pleasurable  relief  passed  through 
Donald;  but  he  managed  to  reply  formally,  "I  am 
pleased ;  but  I  hope  that  you  didn't  ease  up  any  be- 
cause of  anything  ...  er  ...  on  my  account." 

"No,  we  didn't,"  was  the  response.  "I'll  admit 
that  both  your  account  of  what  Miss  Webb  had 
done,  and  the  girl  herself,  appealed  to  me  so  that 
I  was  prepared  to  mark  a  bit  leniently,  if  necessary ; 
but  it  wasn't.  I  really  don't  see  how  she  managed 
to  garner  so  much  education  in  so  short  a  time." 

"'Where  there's  a  will,'"quoted  Donald,  with 
inward  satisfaction  over  the  fact  that  his  ward  had 
fulfilled  his  prophecy,  and  he  stole  a  few  minutes 
out  of  the  busy  morning  to  motor  to  the  Merrimans' 
apartment  to  bear  the  joy-bringing  tidings  per- 
sonally to  little  Rose,  whose  eyes  shone  happily 
and  whose  lips  smiled  their  thanks,  but  who  —  per- 
versely, it  seemed  to  him  —  gave  Miss  Merriman 
the  reward  which  he  felt  should  have  been  his. 

Dreams  do  come  true  sometimes,  if  they  are  true, 
and  so  at  last  arrived  a  bright  May  morning  when 
Smiles  folded  away  her  little  play  uniform  forever, 
and  —  by  right  of  conquest  —  donned  the  striped 
pink  and  white  gingham  dress  and  bibless  apron  of  a 
probationer,  within  the  doors  of  the  newly  built 
home  of  that  old  and  worthy  institution  which  had 
had  its  inception,  more  than  sixty  years  before,  in 
the  loving  heart  of  Nursing  Sister  Margaret. 

There  Rose  entered  into  'a  new  life,  as  different 
from  that  of  the  old  physical  freedom  of  the  hills, 


260  "SMILES" 

and  personal  freedom  from  restraint,  as  could  well 
be  imagined,  for,  as  Donald  had  told  her,  she  was 
now  mustered,  as  an  untrained  recruit,  into  a  great 
modern  army;  and  discipline  is  the  keynote  in  war, 
whether  the  battle  be  against  evil  nations  or  evil 
forces. 

From  half  after  six  in  the  morning  until  ten  at 
night,  when  with  military  precision  came  "  lights  out," 
her  life  was  drawn  to  pattern.  It  was  not  a  hard- 
ship for  her,  as  with  some  others,  to  arise  at  the  early 
hour ;  and  the  brief  prayer  and  singing  of  the  morning 
hymn,  in  company  with  her  fifty-odd  sister-proba- 
tioners and  pupil  nurses,  impressed  her  strongly 
the  first  time  in  which  she  had  part  in  it,  and  never 
failed  to  strengthen  and  uplift  her  for  the  day's  toil. 
Times  were  to  come  aplenty,  to  be  sure,  when  the 
old  call  of  untrammelled  freedom  stirred  her  senses 
to  mute  rebellion;  but,  as  often,  her  all-absorbed 
interest  in  the  work  silenced  it  speedily. 

Right  at  the  outset  Rose  experienced  the  same 
shock  which  hundreds  of  other  would-be  nurses  have 
had.  She,  mistress  of  a  home  for  years,  was  obliged 
to  learn  to  clean,  to  scrub,  to  make  a  bed !  For  two 
whole  months  of  probationary  training  she  had  to 
labor  at  the  bedside  or  in  the  classroom,  doing  the 
commonplace,  practical  tasks  which,  to  many, 
seemed  merely  unnecessary  drudgery;  but,  if  she 
occasionally  felt  that  Donald's  prophecy  was  coming 
true  with  a  vengeance,  more  often  her  level  little 
head  held  a  prescient  understanding  of  how  important 


THE  FIRST  MILESTONE        261 

this  unlovely  foundation  was  to  the  structure  which 
should  some  day  be  built  upon  it. 

And,  although  the  Superintendent  said  nothing 
to  Smiles,  she  noted  with  secret  appreciation  that 
her  new  pupil  possessed,  in  addition  to  her  sustaining 
enthusiasm,  a  no  less  valuable  thing  —  the  innate 
ability  to  use  her  hands  by  instinct  and  without 
clumsy  conscious  effort.  Had  not  this  girl,  who  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  child  in  years,  for  a  long  time 
been  both  a  homemaker  and  an  ever-ready  nurse 
to  all  those  who  became  ill  within  the  confines  of 
the  scattered  mountain  settlement? 

The  second  milestone  was  reached  at  last.  Rose 
was  one  day  summoned  alone  into  the  Superintend- 
ent's sanctum,  and  the  door  was  closed  to  all  others. 
A  little  later  she  came  out  with  tears  adding  new 
lustre  to  her  shining  eyes,  for  the  talk  had  been  very 
earnest  and  heart-searching;  but  they  were  tears 
of  happiness,  for  upon  her  gleaming  curls  now  sat 
the  square  pique  cap  which  was  the  visible  sign  that 
she  had  safely  traversed  the  first  stretch  of  the  long, 
hard  road.  To  be  sure,  she  knew  well  that  even 
this,  the  so  dearly  desired  cap  and  pale  blue  dress 
which  went  with  it,  did  not  make  her  fully  a  pupil 
nurse,  yet  that  afternoon  it  seemed  that  life  could 
never  hold  for  her  an  honor  more  precious. 

The  afternoon  on  which  this  momentous  event 
occurred  was  one  of  liberty  for  Rose,  and  she  hastened 
with  the  news  to  her  dear  Miss  Merriman,  the  precious 
cap  smuggled  out  under  her  coat ;  but,  after  they  had 


SMILES 


xejoiced  together,  and  she  had  admired  its  reflection 
In  the  glass,  she  suddenly  became  doleful,  and  wailed 
in  mock  despair,  "Oh,  doesn't  it  seem  as  though  I'd 
never,  never  be  a  real  nurse.  Why,  now  I've  got  to 
leave  the  hospital"  —  the  tragedy  in  her  tone  almost 
caused  her  friend  to  break  into  laughter  —  "and 
study  all  sorts  of  awful  Latin  things.  She  opened 
a  catalogue  and  read  aloud,  "  'Physiology,  bacteriol- 
ogy, chemistry,  dietetics,'  and  goodness  knows  what 
else  over  at  Simmons  College,  for  four  whole  months. 
I  shall  simply  die,  I  just  know  that  I  shall  !" 

Miss  Merriman  gently  explained  the  necessity 
for  each  of  them;  but  wisely  refrained  from  further 
frightening  her  by  adding  that  a  full  year's  course 
was  to  be  crowded  into  those  sixteen  weeks. 

In  due  time  these,  too,  were  over,  the  awe-inspir- 
ing examination  passed,  and  Smiles  was  accepted 
as  worthy  of  a  place  among  the  pupil  nurses.  Like  an 
athlete  she  had  finished  her  preliminary  training, 
and  was  ready  for  the  long,  gruelling  race  toward  the 
goal,  two  and  a  half  years  distant. 

Hard  work  though  it  was,  Rose  found  all  her  days 
sunny  ones,  and  only  one  cloud  partly  obscured  then- 
brightness.  Donald  she  saw  on  rare  occasions  only, 
as  the  demands  upon  his  time  doubled  and  redoubled, 
and  of  course  their  brief  meetings  at  the  hospital 
demanded  strict  formality  of  intercourse.  Deeply 
as  he  felt  for  her,  he  was  a  physician  first,  last  and  all 
the  time,  and  as  uncompromising  in  his  own  ethics 
as  he  was  in  his  requirements  of  the  nurses. 


THE  FIRST  MILESTONE        263 

Yet,  if  she  saw  him  seldom,  there  was  another 
whom  she  saw  increasingly  often.  Dr.  Bentley's 
attitude  towards  Rose  was  also  strictly  professional ; 
but  he  never  failed  to  bow  and  speak  pleasantly 
when  he  met  her  in  the  corridors  or  wards,  and  she 
instinctively  felt  that  in  him  she  had  found  another 
real  friend. 

Rose  was  too  much  a  child  of  nature  to  be  given 
to  thinking  much  about  men ;  but  there  were  minutes, 
just  before  sleep  came  at  night,  when  her  mind  would 
visualize  Donald's  strong,  kindly  face,  which  seemed 
to  look  down  at  her  with  an  expression  almost  fa- 
therly, and  she  would  whisper  a  little  prayer  that  she 
might  help  him  as  she  had  resolved  to,  that  night  on 
the  mountain  top.  And  at  such  times  another  face, 
light,  where  his  was  dark,  came,  not  to  supplant,  but 
to  supplement  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  RED  CROSS 

DESPITE  the  enthralling  interest  of  her  new  work 
and  surroundings,  it  seemed  to  Rose,  during  the 
year  after  she  gained  entrance  to  the  temple  of  her 
desire,  that  her  life  was  standing  still,  while  all 
things  else  were  speeding  by  her  at  a  breakneck 
pace. 

It  had  never  been  so  before.  Even  in  the  isola- 
tion and  simplicity  of  her  former  home  she  had  felt 
that  she  was  a  part  of  it  all.  It  had  seemed  to  her, 
somehow,  as  though  her  existence  had  been  patterned 
after  her  own  turbulent  mountain  stream,  which 
danced  along  through  sunshine  and  shade,  with  here 
and  there  a  ravine  and  cataract,  here  and  there  a 
rapid  or  impeding  boulder  in  its  course ;  but  always 
moving,  moving.  Then,  suddenly,  it  was  as  though 
that  swift  little  river  had  fallen  into  a  broad,  quiet 
basin,  walled  in,  where  it  moved  forward  almost 
imperceptibly.  True,  it  was  daily  gaining  greater 
depth  and  fulness  as  it  gathered  to  itself  the  tributary 
waters  of  knowledge  and  experience,  and  Smiles 
was  not  insensible  to  this  fact.  But  it  was  difficult 
to  remember  it  always,  for  the  outer  world  of  events 
was  moving  forward  so  fast. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  RED   CROSS    265 

The  very  day  upon  which  her  probationary  period 
came  to  an  end  and,  with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  a  song 
in  her  heart,  she  placed  the  cherished  cap  upon  her  gold- 
brown  curls,  there  came,  from  the  heart  of  the  swiftly 
piled  up,  lowering  clouds,  the  blinding  flash  which 
shattered  the  peace  of  the  world  and  started  the 
overwhelming  conflagration  into  the  seething,  bloody- 
tongued  vortex  into  which  nation  after  nation  was 
sucked  irresistibly.  The  world  had  become  the 
plaything  of  the  Gods  of  Wrath. 

Black  days  passed,  shuddering  things  of  horror 
to  Rose,  when  she  had  time  to  allow  her  mind  to 
dwell  upon  them,  and  her  keen  imagination  to  picture 
the  atrocities  which  the  fiend  was  committing  upon 
the  helpless  babies  of  Belgium  and  France. 

Then,  in  answer  to  the  cries  and  lamentations  from 
overseas,  the  banner  of  the  Red  Cross  was  shaken 
forth  anew,  like  a  holy  standard,  and,  like  crusaders 
of  old,  doctors  and  nurses  flocked  beneath  it  for  the 
battle.  From  her  own  hospital  home  went  physicians 
and  graduate  nurses  to  dedicate  themselves  afresh 
to  service.  The  call  reached  and  wrung  the  heart  of 
Rose.  She  could  not  go  as  a  nurse,  she  knew;  yet 
the  need  was  so  great  that  it  seemed  to  her  that 
somehow  she  must  answer ;  but  she  resolutely  closed 
her  ears  to  it  and  fixed  her  eyes  the  more  steadfastly 
upon  the  rocky,  shut-in  path  which  she  had  set  forth 
to  climb. 

It  was  a  raw,  bleak  evening  in  late  November 
when  she  made  her  final  resolve.  At  noon  Donald 


266  "SMILES" 


had  met  her  in  one  of  the  corridors  and  stopped  to 
speak  with  her.  His  face,  she  thought  afterwards, 
had  appeared  unusually  serious  and  determined, 
even  for  him,  as  he  said,  "This  is  your  afternoon 
and  evening  off  duty,  isn't  it,  Rose?  I  want  to 
talk  with  you,  if  you  haven't  made  any  other  plans." 
\  As  it  chanced,  she  had  been  eagerly  anticipating 
a  visit  to  the  theatre  with  Miss  Merriman,  who  was 
home  for  a  few  days  between  cases;  but  something 
about  his  manner  caused  her  to  tell  a  white  lie  with- 
out hesitation. 

"Good,"  he  said.  "I'll  call  for  you  in  my  car  and 
take  you  to  Ethel's  for  dinner.  Be  ready  at  six 
o'clock."  -  -  .  .  <*'<*< 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  Donald's  presence  had  been 
strangely  close  to  her,  and  she  found  herself  wonder- 
ing what  it  portended;  but  not  until  the  pleasant 
family  meal  was  over,  and  he  was  taking  her  home, 
did  she  learn. 

When  they  came  out  of  the  house  they  found  a 
baby  blizzard  sending  the  first  snow  of  the  season, 
as  light  and  dry  as  tiny  particles  of  down,  whirling 
and  eddying  through  the  broad  street.  As  Rose 
stood  in  surprise  at  the  top  of  the  brownstone  steps, 
a  dry  vagrant,  left  from  one  of  the  trees  which  was' 
tossing  its  gaunt  arms  protestingly,  came  tumbling 
down  to  become  stem-entangled  in  her  hair.  With  a 
laugh,  she  dashed  for  the  motor  car  and,  when  she 
had  sprung  inside  it,  she  was  panting  a  little,  for 
the  thieving  wind  had  taken  advantage  of  her  lips 


THE   CALL  OF  THE   RED  CROSS    267 

being  open  in  laughter  to  steal  away  her  breath, 
so  that  Donald  was  sensible  of  her  quickened  heart 
beats  as  she  leaned  against  him  while  his  big  but 
deft  fingers  removed  the  leaf  almost  tenderly  from 
its  imprisoning  mesh. 

"Doctor  Bentley  would  make  a  pretty  speech 
about  getting  caught  in  my  hair,"  challenged  Rose 
with  a  teasing  pout. 

The  next  instant  she  drew  quickly  back,  for  Don- 
ald's arms  were  almost  about  her.  He  as  quickly 
recovered  himself,  with  the  words,  "But  you  can't 
expect  pretty  speeches  from  a  brother." 

"You  have  been  a  dear  big  brother;  I  don't 
know  why  you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  Donald. 
Do  you  know  what  this  snow  reminds  me  of?  That 
awful  night  on  the  mountain  when  I  went  down  to 
Fayville  to  telegraph  for  you  —  and  you  came." 
For  a  moment  they  both  sat  in  silent  memories,  then 
Rose  added,  "Dear  little  Lou,  I  wonder  how  she  is 
getting  along  now  .  .  .  and  Juddy,  too.  Isn't  it 
a  strange  thing,  Donald,  that  one  can  forget  the  old 
things  so  quickly  —  no,  not  forget,  either ;  but  have 
them  forced  into  the  background  of  the  mind  by  new 
surroundings  and  new  friends.  Sometimes,  all  those 
years  on  the  mountain  seem  to  me  like  a  dream.  I 
used  to  see  the  people  there,  Grandpap,  Mr.  Tal- 
madge,  Judd  and  all  the  rest,  every  day,  they  were 
a  part  of  my  life,  and  now  they  have  been  completely 
withdrawn  and  who  knows  if  I  shall  ever  see  any  of 
them  again?  They  hardly  seem  real  to  me." 


268  "SMILES" 

"Yes,  strange,  perhaps,  but  it  happens  many  times 
in  the  course  of  a  life."  He  paused,  then  added  hur- 
riedly, "I  suppose  that  in  a  few  months  you  will  be 
saying  the  same  thing  about  me  —  'I  used  to  see 
him  every  day,  he  was  a  part  of  my  life,  but  now  he 
is  only  in  the  background  of  my  memory,  and  doesn't 
seem  real. ' ' 

There  was  a  note  almost  of  bitterness  in  Donald's 
voice;  but  Rose  was  too  stunned  by  his  words  to 
notice  or  attempt  to  analyze  the  manner  of  their 
utterance. 

"Donald,  what  .  .  .  what  do  you  mean?  You're 
not  ..."  She  gasped,  and  laid  her  hand  with  an 
impulsive  clutch  on  his  arm. 

"Look  out !  Don't  interfere  with  the  motorman," 
he  laughed  more  naturally,  as  the  car  swerved  almost 
into  the  curbing.  "Yes,  I  am.  I'm  going  away 
.  .  .  almost  immediately." 

"Away?    Where?" 

"To  France." 

"Oh,  Don,  you  mustn't;  you  can't.  You're 
needed  here  so  much." 

"They  need  me  over  there  more,  little  Smiles. 
I've  realized  it,  and  felt  the  pull,  for  days;  but  it 
didn't  become  insistent  until  yesterday,  when  I 
received  a  letter  from  a  chap  whom  I  have  known  for 
years.  He's  always  had  a  good  deal  more  money 
than  was  good  for  him,  and  been  a  sort  of  social 
butterfly.  I  liked  him,  although  I  didn't  believe 
that  he  had  a  serious  thought  in  his  head,  didn't 


THE   CALL  OF  THE   RED   CROSS    269 

think  that  he  was  capable  of  one,  but  .  .  .  here, 
read  what  he  has  written  me,"  he  concluded  abruptly, 
as  a  temporary  block  forced  their  car  to  a  stop  beneath 
an  electric  light  on  Massachusetts  Avenue.  "The 
first  page  doesn't  matter;  it  merely  contains  a 
description  of  how  he  happened  to  be  caught  in 
Paris  by  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  and  got  mixed  up  in 
volunteer  rescue  work  through  a  spirit  of  adventure." 
Rose  turned  to  the  second  sheet  and,  holding  the 
pages  close  to  the  glass  in  the  door,  through  which 
came  enough  snow-filtered  light  to  illumine  them, 
read. 

"I  am  beginning  to  understand,  now,  something  of 
what  you  meant  when  you  used  to  talk  so  enthusiastically 
about  your  confining,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  often 
thankless  work.  I  never  knew  what  real  satisfaction 
was  until  I  began  to  get  mixed  up  with  this  volunteer 
Red  Cross  work.  Coming  from  the  source  that  it  does, 
you  will  probably  be  surprised  and  amused  at  the  state- 
ment that,  when  I  look  back  on  the  old,  superficial,  ut- 
terly useless  life  that  I  formerly  led,  I  actually  thank  God 
for  the  foolish  whim  that  brought  me  to  Paris  in  the  fall, 
and  the  equally  whimsical  decision  that  led  me  to  volun- 
teer my  services  as  an  auto  driver.  The  work  has  stirred 
something  inside  of  me  that  I  didn't  know  existed,  and, 
if  I  come  through  this  scrape  (we're  working  in  villages 
pretty  close  to  the  front  a  good  deal  of  the  time),  I'll  come 
home  'poorer,  but  wiser.'  Yes,  they've  touched  my 
pocketbook  as  well  as  my  heart. 

I  suppose  the  papers  give  you  some  idea  of  conditions 
here  ;  but  no  verbal  description  can  begin  to  do  it  justice ; 
the  need  is  simply  overwhelming  and  hourly  growing 


270  "SMILES" 

greater.  Think  of  it,  old  man,  there  are  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  babies  and  little  kiddies  of  Belgium 
and  northern  France  homeless,  many  of  them  orphaned, 
most  of  them  sick  and  all  helpless  and  with  their  lives  — 
which  have  every  right  to  be  carefree  and  happy  —  filled 
with  sorrow  and  suffering. 

France  has  been  glorious  in  the  way  she  has  met  the 
staggering,  almost  insuperable  difficulties  which  every- 
where confront  her,  but  how  could  she  be  expected  to 
meet  this  incidental  problem  when  she  was  so  over- 
burdened with  the  crushing  pressure  of  the  battle  for  her 
very  existence.  It  has  been  a  mighty  lucky  thing  for 
her  that  the  Red  Cross  was  ready  to  take  it  off  her 
shoulders,  and  she  has  turned  to  us  (How  does  that  sound  ? 
Can  you  imagine  me  doing  anything  useful  ?)  with  tears  of 
appeal  and  gratitude.  That  isn't  a  figure  of  speech.  I 
have  actually  seen  the  Prefect  of  this  Province,  who  would 
rank  with  the  governor  of  one  of  our  states,  and  who  is  a 
brave,  capable  man,  cry  like  a  woman  over  the  seeming 
hopelessness  of  the  ghastly  problem.  I  have  heard  him 
say  that  he  —  that  France  —  was  helpless,  and  beg  us 
in  the  name  of  common  humanity  to  do  what  we  could. 

Believe  me,  we're  doing  it,  and  I'm  proud  of  my 
countrymen  and  women  who  have  gone  into  this  thing 
with  the  typical  Yankee  pep ;  proud  of  the  American 
Red  Cross  and  just  a  bit  proud  of  myself.  You  used 
to  make  fun  of  my  vaunted  ability  to  stay  up  half  the 
night,  and  be  fresh  as  a  daisy  the  next  morning.  It's 
serving  me  in  good  stead  now.  I  can't  begin  to  tell 
you  about  the  work  we  have  done  already  and  are  doing ; 
it  is  a  task  to  overwhelm  the  courage,  but  we  are  'carry- 
ing on, '  as  the  Tommies  say. 

New  children,  by  the  scores  and  hundreds,  are  brought 
into  the  hospital  bases  daily,  and  many  of  them  have 
been  living  for  weeks,  and  even  months,  filthy  in  cellars 


THE   CALL  OF  THE  RED  CROSS    271 

of  Hun-shattered  villages  which  are  almost  continually 
under  fire.  They  are  generally  sick,  naturally,  inde- 
scribably dirty  and,  in  fact,  mere  wraiths  of  childhood. 
God,  Don,  it  gets  me  when  I  imagine  my  own  nephews 
and  nieces  in  their  places ! 

We  clean  'em  up,  give  them  help  and  something  to 
live  for.  We  have  already  established  hospitals,  schools 

and  nurseries  in  and  and  our 

ambulances  and  '  traveling  baths '  go  out  daily  to  give  aid 
to  the  less  needy  in  the  neighborhood.  Can  you  picture 
me  acting  as  chauffeur  for  a  magnified  bath  tub  for  Bel- 
gian babies?  That's  what  I'm  doing,  now! 

Get  into  the  game,  old  man.  We  need  you  over  here, 
and  the  kids  of  the  disgustingly  rich  at  home  will  be  the 
better  for  not  having  a  doctor  to  give  them  a  pill  every 
time  their  little  noses  run  a  bit.  Pack  up  your  saws, 
axes  and  other  trouble-makers  in  your  old  kit  bag  and 
climb  aboard  a  ship  bound  for  France." 

Donald  saw  that  there  were  tears  in  Smiles'  deep 
eyes  as  she  silently  folded  the  pages,  and  replaced 
them  in  their  envelope. 

"Of  course  you  ought  to  go,"  she  said  simply. 
"I  spoke  selfishly.  But  oh,  Don,  I  don't  know  what 
I  shall  do  without  you ;  you're  the  only  'family'  I've 
got.  I  don't  see  you  very  often;  but  I  know  that 
you  are  here  in  Boston,  and  I  guess  that  I  have  got 
the  habit  of  leaning  on  you  in  my  thoughts.  You 
know  I  called  you  a  tree,  years  and  years  ago." 

"Yes,  I  remember,  an  'oak,'  wasn't  it?  I  thought 
that  you  meant  that  I  was  tough,"  he  laughed. 
"The  idea  of  you  leaning  on  any  one  is  funny,  Rose." 
Then  he  added,  with  some  hesitancy,  "I've  been 


SMILES" 


thinking  .  .  .  Would  you  like  to  go  over  there, 
too,  Rose?  I  could  take  you  .  .  .  that  is,  I  am 
quite  sure  that  I  could  arrange  for  you  to  do  so,  not 
as  a  Red  Cross  nurse,  of  course,  for  they  have  to  be 
graduates  ;  but  as  a  volunteer  helper  in  one  of  those 
base  hospitals.  It  would  be  a  wonderful  experience, 
and  you  would  be  performing  the  kind  of  service 
that  you  like  best.  It  would  not  be  time  wasted, 
by  any  means." 

She  started,  and  her  lips  parted  eagerly  ;  then  the 
light  slowly  faded  from  her  eyes  and  she  shook  her 
head  slowly. 

"I  would  love  it.  It  would  be  glorious,  Don,  and 
I  should  be  working  with  you,  perhaps,  but  .  .  . 
No,  I  must  keep  on  doing  as  I  have  planned.  I  can't 
falter  or  fail  now,  Don.  There  is  going  to  be  greater 
need  every  day,  not  for  helpers,  but  for  trained 
workers.  When  this  awful  war  is  ended  and  the 
weary,  weary  world  turns  back  to  peaceful  pursuits, 
its  hope  and  salvation  will  He  in  its  babies.  Won't 
it,  Don?  I  would  like  to  help  those  babies  over  in 
France;  sometimes  I  dream  of  being  a  Red  Cross 
nurse  and  helping  the  poor,  wounded  soldiers;  but 
I  am  sure  that  it  is  better  for  me  to  keep  on  making 
myself  ready  to  serve  the  coming  generations  to  the 
best  of  my  fully  trained  ability.  Don't  you  think 
so,  too,  Don?" 

Her  words  had  rung  firm  and  true  until  the  last 
question,  when  there  crept  in  a  note  which  seemed 
to  his  ears  to  carry  an  appeal  for  him  to  disagree, 


THE   CALL  OF  THE   RED   CROSS    273 

and  argue  with  her;  but  the  man  answered,  "Yes, 
dear.  You  are  dead  right,  and  I  felt  certain  that 
you  would  say  what  you  have  said.  You  have  got 
to  stay  until  you  are  trained;  I  have  got  to  go, 
because  I  am.  You  see  that,  don't  you?" 

"Yes.  Oh,  I  shall  miss  you  awfully,  Don;  I  can't 
tell  you  how  much.  But  I  want  you  to  go.  And 
I  mean  to  pray  for  you,  and  the  poor  little  babies  over 
there,  too.  I'll  write  you  as  often  as  I  can ;  as  often 
as  you  want  me  to." 

"That's  fine,"  he  answered  heartily.  "But,  as  I 
told  you  once  before,  don't  feel  hurt  if  I  answer  only 
occasionally.  I  have  a  suspicion  that  there  will  be 
plenty  of  work  for  me  to  do  over  there." 

"Yes,  I'll  understand.  Besides,  you  will  have  to 
write  to  ...  to  Miss  Treville  more  than  to  me. 
Are  you  .  .  .  are  you  going  to  get  married  before 
you  go?" 

"Married?  Good  Lord,  no  ...  that  is,  I  hadn't 
even  thought  of  it,"  he  said  with  a  forced  laugh. 
''Why,  I  haven't  even  told  her  yet  that  I  am  going." 

"You  haven't?    You  told  me,  first?" 

"Well  ...  er  ...  you  see  I  had  to  tell  you, 
because  .  .  .  because  I  ...  I  hold  a  position  of 
trust  in  respect  to  you,  and  have  got  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  your  future.  Big  Jerry  told  me  to  use  my 
own  judgment  about  your  money,  and  I  believe  that 
you  are  fully  competent  to  take  care  both  of  yourself 
and  of  it. 

"Here,"  he  drew  a  small  package  from  his  side 


274  "SMILES" 


pocket,  "is  a  bank  deposit  and  check  book,  for  I 
have  already  had  the  account  transferred  from  my 
name,  as  trustee,  to  you  individually.  Now  it  is  up 
to  you  to  prove  that  you  are  a  careful  little  business 
woman.  With  more  than  a  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank  you  may  feel  quite  like  an  heiress,  but  I  warn 
you  that  a  big  city  is  a  glutton  and  its  avaricious  maw 
is  always  open  for  money.  Be  warned  by  one  who 
knows.  If  you  need  any  advice  of  any  nature  that  a 
man  can  give  better  than  Miss  Merriman,  I  want 
you  to  promise  to  call  on  Phil  .  .  .  Dr.  Bentley,  that 
is,  for  I  mean  to  put  you  in  his  charge.  You  can 
trust  him  just  as  you  do  me." 

"I  know  that,"  answered  Rose  frankly. 

"Well,  here  we  are,  little  sister.  Don't  tell  any 
one  what  I  have  just  told  you,  for  I  want  to  make  all 
my  preliminary  arrangements  before  I  astound  the 
world  with  the  announcement  of  what  I  am  going 
to  do." 

"You  needn't  laugh,"  answered  Rose.  "I  guess 
that  it  will  dismay  plenty  of  Back  Bay  families  who 
have  babies." 

There  was  a  catch  in  her  voice  as  she  bade  him 
good-night,  and  she  was  not  sorry  for  an  excuse  for 
running  into  the  hospital,  offered  by  the  mellow  notes 
of  a  distant  church  clock  tolling  the  hour  of  ten.  It 
was  the  signal  for  "lights  out"  in  the  bedrooms,  and 
this  was  appreciated,  too,  for  it  made  it  possible  for 
her  to  undress  in  the  dark,  and  the  pale  moonlight 
which  came  in  through  the  window,  as  the  moon 


THE   CALL  OF  THE  RED   CROSS    275 

played  hide  and  seek  behind  the  broken  masses  of 
storm  clouds  —  for  the  blizzard  had  ended  as  quickly 
as  it  had  come  on  —  was  reflected  on  two  glistening 
tear  drops  on  her  flushed  cheeks.  In  the  darkness 
her  roommate  could  not  see  them  and  be  led  to  ask 
questions. 

The  two  girls,  one  the  self-educated,  unknown  child 
of  the  southern  mountain  side,  the  other  the  college- 
bred  daughter  of  one  of  New  England's  oldest  families, 
had  become  fast  friends  and  generally  exchanged 
whispered  confidences  until  the  sleep  which  comes  of 
physical  exhaustion  speedily  claimed  them;  but 
to-night  Rose  was  in  no  mood  for  conversation. 

The  last  thread  which  bound  the  old  life  to  the 
new  was  soon  to  be  broken,  and  she  felt  lonelier, 
more  nearly  homesick,  than  she  had  since  leaving 
Webb's  Gap. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  never  see  him  again,"  she  half 
whispered.  "But  I  shall  never,  never  forget  him, 
he  has  been  so  good  and  meant  so  much  to  me.  And 
I  shall  always  love  him."  She  saw  that  her  room- 
mate was  asleep,  softly  raised  the  window-shade  to 
let  in  the  moonlight  that  she  loved,  and,  clad  in  her 
simple  nightdress,  short  sleeved  and  cut  low  at  the 
neck,  seated  herself  before  the  mirror  to  brush  her 
wavy  mass  of  hair,  and,  as  she  leaned  forward,  and  it 
fell  about  her  face,  tear  bedewed  and  made  almost 
childlike  again  by  its  frame  of  tumbling  curls,  she 
smiled  faintly  in  recollection.  "I  look  the  way  I 
used  to  in  my  homemade,  ore-piece  dresses,"  she 


276  "SMILES" 

breathed.  "Just  as  I  did  that  afternoon  when  he 
first  saw  me.  '  Yo'  looked  so  funny  a-fallin'  over  thet 
thar  dawg,  an'  a-rollin'  on  the  floor.'  What  a  way  to 
greet  a  famous  physician  —  only  I  didn't  know  it 
then." 

For  a  moment  she  sat  like  this,  her  thoughts  far 
away  from  the  northern  city;  then  a  faint  blush 
mantled  her  face,  and  she  hastily  jumped  up  and 
shut  out  the  soft  light  by  pulling  down  the  shade. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   GOAL 

You  cannot,  by  a  bridge  of  sighs,  attain  the  future's  golden 

years, 
But  try  a  bridge  of  rainbow  hopes  erected  on  substantial 

piers 
Of  honest  work,  and  you  will  find  it  leads  you  surely  to  the 

goal. 
'Tis  God  that  gives  the  dreamer's  dreams,  as  radiant  as 

the  morning, 
But,  if  the  will  to  work  is  weak,  they  often  die  a-borning. 

IF  this  were  a  romance,  instead  of  the  simple 
account  of  the  pilgrimage  and  development  of  a 
girl  from  childhood  to  womanhood,  it  would  be 
permissible  to  say,  "three  years  pass  by  in  swift 
flight,"  or  "drag  by  on  weary  feet,"  as  the  case 
may  have  been,  and  then  resume  the  action. 

But  in  everyday  life,  character  is  built  out  of  every- 
day incidents,  big  and  little,  all  of  which  have  place 
in  the  moulding  of  it,  and,  since  the  years  of  Smiles' 
training  within  the  Children's  Hospital  were  vital 
ones  for  her,  it  is  essential  to  touch  briefly  upon  some 
of  the  occurrences  which  filled  them. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  by  no  means  necessary  to 
describe  that  period  at  length.  It  is  doubtful  if, 
in  later  life,  she  will  herself  look  back  upon  the  many 

277 


278  "SMILES" 

days  so  filled  to  repletion  with  exacting,  though  inter- 
esting, tasks,  as  other  than  a  dead  level,  for  constant 
repetition  of  a  thing,  no  matter  how  gripping  it  may 
be,  produces  a  monotony.  But  there  were  special 
incidents  — •  sometimes  trivial  in  comparison  with 
the  importance  of  her  sustained  labor  —  which  formed 
the  high  lights  in  the  picture,  and  the  memory  of 
which  will  endure  through  all  the  after  years.  By 
recounting  a  few  of  these,  and  letting  our  imagina- 
tions fill  in  the  interims,  we  can  accompany  Rose  on 
her  journey  to  the  goal  of  her  desires. 


The  day  after  Donald  had  taken  her  into  his  confi- 
dence regarding  his  plans,  Rose  made  up  her  mind  to 
keep  a  diary. 

"Even  though  he  may  be  thousands  of  miles 
away,  I  mean  to  keep  myself  as  close  to  him  as  possible 
by  writing  him  as  I  would  talk  to  him,  about  all  the 
things  which  happen  in  my  life,  and,  unless  I  set 
them  down  as  they  happen,  I  shall  forget,"  she  told 
Miss  Merriman,  after  the  seal  of  secrecy  had  been 
removed  from  her  lips. 

"Perhaps  you  can  succeed  in  keeping  one.  7  never 
could,"  laughed  her  friend.  "Each  January  First  I 
start  a  new  one,  and  register  a  solemn  vow  to  keep 
it  up  longer,  at  least,  than  I  did  the  one  the  previous 
year.  If  I  follow  that  system  until  I  am  three  hundred 
and  fifty  years  old,  I  will  complete  just  one  before 
I  die." 


THE   GOAL  279 


Smiles  accepted  the  implied  challenge,  and,  day  by 
day,  with  few  omissions,  the  dated  pages  bore  new 
testimony  to  her  application  in  performing  a  self- 
appointed  task.  The  plan  bore  fruit,  too,  for  Donald, 
in  his  rare  replies  to  her  confidential  letters,  which 
went  to  him  each  fortnight,  was  able  to  praise  her 
as  the  best  of  correspondents,  writing  once,  "You 
have  an  exceptional  gift  for  making  incidents  seem 
real  and  people  alive,  in  your  letters,  and  of  realizing 
that,  with  us  who  are  so  far  away  from  home,  it  is 
the  little  things  which  count.  Ethel,  alas,  is  hopeless 
in  this  respect.  She  writes  me  faithfully;  but 
invariably  says  that  nothing  has  happened  except 
the  usual  occurrences  of  everyday  life,  and  thereby 
utterly  misses  the  great  fact  that  it  is  just  those  very 
things  that  the  lonely  exile  most  longs  to  hear  about. 
I  would  actually  rather  have  her  write  that  they  had 
baked  beans  on  Saturday  night  than  that  so-and-so 
had  given  a  charity  whist  at  the  Vendome." 

Yet  many  a  sentence  went  into  the  diary  that  was 
never  copied  or  embellished  for  Donald's  eyes.  Some 
of  them  had  to  do  with  him,  or  her  thoughts  of  him  ; 
some  were  too  intimate  for  another  to  see. 

December  6th,  1915. 

"My  dear  Donald  has  gone.  I  think  that  I  have  not 
felt  so  utterly  lonesome  since  granddaddy  died.  And  I 
could  not  get  away  to  say  good-by  to  him  —  I  could 
have  cried,  only  I  didn't  have  time  even  to  do  that.  It 
doesn't  seem  right,  when  he  has  been  so  dear  to  me,  that 
I  should  have  had  to  part  from  him  hi  the  hospital  corridor 


280  "SMILES" 

with  others  around,  so  that  all  I  could  do  was  press  his 
hand  an  instant  and  wish  him  a  commonplace,  'Good 
luck  and  God-speed.'  Still,  it  probably  wouldn't  have 
been  any  different  if  we  had  been  alone.  I  couldn't 
have  done  what  my  heart  was  longing  to  do,  everything 
is  different  now.  I  don't  believe  that  I  enjoy  being 
'grown-up.'  What  an  unpleasant  thing  'convention'  is. 
Why,  I  wonder,  must  we  always  hide  our  true  feelings 
under  a  mask  ?  I  suppose  it  is  lest  the  world  give  a  wrong 
meaning  to  them ;  but  if  I  had  kissed  him,  the  way  I 
used  to,  I'm  sure  that  Donald  would  have  understood. 
He  knows  that  I  love  him  as  dearly  as  though  I  were 
truly  his  sister,  instead  of  a  make-believe  one." 

Here  the  page  bears  a  number  of  meaningless 
hieroglyphics,  and  then  the  words,  stricken  out, 
"I  wonder." 

"He  looked  so  manly  in  his  uniform,  and  so  distin- 
guished, although  I  suppose  that  he  isn't  really  handsome 
—  at  least,  not  like  Dr.  Bentley.  He  isn't  so  wonderful 
as  Don ;  but  I  think  that  he  is  more  understanding.  He 
seemed  to  realize  just  how  I  felt  this  morning,  and  he 
was  as  sweet  and  considerate  as  a  woman  when  I  bungled 
things  awfully  in  the  operating  room.  The  head  nurse 
gave  me  a  deserved  call  down,  however,  and  it  was  per- 
haps just  as  well  that  she  did,  for  my  mind  needed  to  be 
'brought  back.'  Only  my  body  was  in  the  hospital, 
and  the  real  me,  as  Mr.  Talmadge  said,  was  back  in  the 
cabin,  helping  Donald  operate  on  Lou,  all  over  again. 
I  cried  like  a  little  fool  —  the  first  time  I  have  done  it 
here  —  but  my  tears  weren't  for  the  poor  baby  on  the 
operating  table.  They  were  memory  tears.  .  .  . 

"Poor  little  thing,  he  had  to  die,  and  he  was  the  first 
one  whom  I  have  seen  pass  on  to  the  eternal  garden  of 


THE   GOAL  281 


God's  flowers  since  I  have  been  in  the  hospital.    Oh, 
it  hasn't  been  a  happy  day  at  all.  .  .  . 

"I  wonder  if  Donald  could  have  saved  him?  My 
brain  answers,  'No.'  Dr.  Bentley  did  all  that  lies  within 
the  power  of  science,  I  am  sure.  But  somehow  .  .  .  . " 

Christmas  night. 

"If  Donald  might  only  have  been  here  in  person  to- 
day, it  would  have  been  perfect.  I  think  that  he  must 
have  been,  in  spirit,  for  I  'felt'  his  presence  quite  near 
me  several  times ;  I  confided  as  much  to  Dr.  Bentley 
and  he  made  an  atrocious  pun  on  the  word  'presents.' 
I  wish  he  wouldn't ;  it  is  the  only  thing  about  him  that 
I  don't  like,  but  he  will  make  them.  Wasn't  Donald 
thoughtful  and  dear  to  have  bought  a  Christmas  gift 
for  me  during  those  overcrowded  days  before  he  went 
away  ?  —  a  whole  set  of  books,  beautifully  bound,  but 
better  still,  beautiful  within.  Books  are  the  same  as 
people,  I  think.  We  like  to  see  both  attractively  clothed, 
but  in  each  it  is  the  soul  that  counts.  .  .  . 

"What  a  lot  of  presents  I  received  —  from  Miss 
Merriman  and  her  mother,  Mrs.  Thayer  and  little  Muriel, 
and,  oh,  so  many  of  the  girls  here.  I  don't  know  why 
they  are  all  so  good  to  me  —  because  I  am  looked  upon  as 
a  lonely  little  savage,  I  suppose.  And  then  there  was  that 
one  from  Dr.  Bentley.  The  idea  of  a  simple  mountain 
girl  from  Webb's  Gap  having  five  whole  pounds  of  candy 
at  once ! 

"The  funniest  thing  happened  to-day,  and  I  must 
not  forget  to  write  Donald  all  about  it.  He  is  sure  to 
remember  little  red-headed  Jimmy,  who  has  to  spend 
so  much  of  his  time  in  the  hospital.  Has  he  imagina- 
tion enough,  I  wonder,  to  picture  him  sitting  up  in  bed 


282  "SMILES" 


in  the  snow-white  ward,  with  his  flaming  auburn  hair  and 
bright  red  jacket  calling  names  at  each  other?  I  love 
the  old  custom  to  which  the  hospital  still  clings  of  putting 
all  the  little  patients  into  those  red  flannel  jackets  on  cold 
days,  for  it  makes  the  wards  look  so  cheerful  —  like 
Christmas  fields  dotted  with  bright  berries.  Jimmy  is 
a  dear,  and  so  imaginative  that  I  believe  he  lives  every 
story  that  I  tell  him  of  the  Cumberlands  —  certainly  he 
likes  them  better  than  fairy  stories.  This  afternoon, 
I  had  finished  telling  him  about  how  grandpappy  shot 
the  turkey  for  Dr.  MacDonald,  and  I  found  him  looking 
up  at  me  with  his  big  blue  eyes,  which  can  be  as  serious 
as  a  saint's  or  as  mischievous  as  an  imp's.  'Your  face 
is  most  always  laughing,  Miss  Webb, '  said  he.  '  I  think 
I  shall  have  to  call  you  Nurse  Smiles.'  My  roommate, 
Miss  Roberts,  happened  to  be  in  the  room  and  heard 
him,  and  now  it's  all  over  the  hospital.  Everybody  is 
calling  me  it,  unless  the  superintendent  or  some  of  the 
older  doctors  are  around.  How  odd  it  is  that  he  should 
have  struck  on  it,  and  given  me  my  old  nickname  again.  .  . 
"Dr.  Bentley  called  me  Smiles  when  he  left  after  his 
evening  visit." 


May  lyth,  1916. 

"This  has  been  a  day  of  days  for  me.  First  I  re- 
ceived a  long  and  wonderful  letter  from  Donald.  It 
seemed  like  old  tunes,  for  it  was  as  kindly  and  simple, 
too,  as  those  which  he  used  to  write  to  me  at  Webb's 
Gap.  I  wonder  if  he  regards  me  as  still  a  child?  I 
suppose  that  I  really  am  one,  but  somehow  I  feel  very 
grown  up,  and  much  older  than  many  of  the  girls  who 
are  years  older  than  I.  They  constantly  surprise  me  by 
acting  so  young  when  they  are  off  duty.  .  .  but  I  love  it 
in  them. 


THE   GOAL  283 


"To-day  I  entered  into  the  second  year  of  my  training. 
I  wish  that  I  had  the  power  to  set  down  on  paper  my 
feelings  when  I  received  that  first  narrow  black  band 
for  my  cap.  I  suppose  that  I  had  some  of  the  same 
'pridefuP  sensations  that  dear  granddaddy  did  when  he 
was  very  young,  and  cut  the  first  notch  in  the  stock  of 
his  rifle-gun.  But  how  much  better  my  notch  is!  It 
means  that  I  am  fast  getting  able  to  save  lives,  not  to 
take  them.  I  must  always  remember  that  —  it  will 
give  a  deeper  meaning  to  the  symbol.  And  now  my  room 
is  going  to  be  moved  down  a  story  —  I'm  so  glad  that 
Dorothy  Roberts  is  to  be  with  me  still  —  and  I  can  move  in 
one  table  nearer  the  front  wall  in  the  dining  room.  That 
wall  sometimes  seems  to  me  like  a  goal  that  I  have  got  to 
reach  before  I  will  be  safe,  just  as  in  a  children's  game 
of  tag,  and,  when  I  get  tired  and  discouraged  —  for  I 
do,  at  times,  little  diary  —  it  seems  as  though  there  were 
many,  many  things  stretching  out  invisible  hands  to  catch 
me  before  I  get  to  it.  Donald  was  right  about  the  path 
being  no  road  of  roses.  .  .  .  Come,  this  will  never  do ; 
I'm  supposed  to  be  happy  to-night,  and  besides,  now 
I've  got  to  live  up  to  my  nickname  again. 


I  wonder  how  much  I  really  have  changed  in  the  year  ? 
a  good  deal,  I'm  sure.  I  remember  that  at  first  I  used  to 
laugh  to  myself  over  the  'class  distinctions,'  such  as  I 
have  just  been  writing  about ;  that  was  when  I  was  fresh 
from  the  mountain,  where  every  one  called  every  one  else 
by  his  or  her  first  name  —  and  also  when  I  was  in  the 
lowest  class  myself.  Once  I  was  even  bold  enough  to 
tell  Dr.  Bentley  that  I  thought  they  were  foolish,  but 
he  reminded  me  —  as  Donald  had  —  that  we  are  an  army 
here,  and  that  in  an  army  a  private  can't  eat  and  sleep 
with  a  captain,  or  a  captain  with  a  general.  Now  I 


284  "SMILES" 

don't  mind  the  rules  and  regulations  at  all,  for  I  have 
learned  the  lesson  of  discipline,  and  I  know  that,  even  if 
we  do  have  to  be  strict  in  our  conduct  toward  the  older 
nurses  and  the  doctors,  we  are  all  —  from  the  senior  sur- 
geon down  to  the  lowliest  probationer  —  really  one  in  a 
great  spiritual  fellowship,  as  the  prayerbook  says,  and 
all  working  together  in  the  same  great  cause. 


August  igth,  1916. 

"Little  diary,  I  have  been  neglecting  you  lately, 
but  now  you  and  I  must  collect  our  thoughts,  for  we 
have  got  to  write  a  long,  long  letter  to  Donald  and 
tell  Him  all  about  the  vacation  —  the  first  that  I  ever 
had. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  I  was  ever  really  at  the  sea- 
shore, too,  except  that  one  afternoon  in  June  when  Dr. 
Bentley  took  me  down  to  Nahant  in  his  car.  Weren't 
the  Thayers  dear  to  have  me  as  their  guest  at  beautiful 
Manchester-by-the-Sea?  Ethel  (I  wonder  if  Donald 
will  be  pleased  to  know  that  his  real  sister  has  asked  me 
to  call  her  by  her  first  name?)  insisted  that  they  did  it 
for  my  own  sake,  but  I  know  that  it  was  really  on  his 
account.  They  were  two  weeks  of  wonder  for  me ;  but 
I  wish  that  he  might  have  been  there.  How  they  all  miss 
him  —  even  Dr.  Bentley.  I  think  that  there  is  nothing 
finer  than  such  a  friendship  between  two  men.  Why, 
he  even  calls  on  Donald's  family  still.  He  came  to  Man- 
chester twice  in  the  fortnight  that  I  was  there.  Dr. 
Bentley  wants  me  to  call  him  'Philip,'  when  we  are  not 
in  the  hospital,  and  I  do  ...  sometimes.  It  seems 
perfectly  natural,  even  though  he  is  much  older  than 
I  —  he  is  over  thirty ;  but  I  suppose  that  is  because  at 
home  we  called  almost  every  one  by  his  first  name.  (We 
are  rambling,  little  diary.  I  don't  believe  that  Donald 


THE   GOAL  285 


would  be  particularly  interested  in  the  fact  that  I  call 
Dr.  Bentley,  'Philip.') 

He  will  be  interested  to  know  how  the  sea  impressed 
me,  though,  and  again  I  find  myself  wholly  at  a  loss  for 
words  to  express  my  feelings.  It  was  so  overwhelming 
in  its  grandeur  and  far-stretching  expanse;  so  beautiful 
in  its  never-ending  procession  of  colors ;  so  terrible  in  its 
might,  when  aroused.  I  have  seen  it  asleep  as  peace- 
fully as  one  of  my  babies  (all  the  hospital  babies  are 
children  of  my  heart),  and  I  have  seen  it  in  anger,  like 
a  brutal  giant.  I  wish  that  I  had  not  seen  its  latter  mood, 
for,  when  it  caught  up  the  little  boat  that  had  been  torn 
from  the  moorings,  and  hurled  her  again  and  again  against 
the  rocks  until  there  was  not  a  plank  of  her  left  unbroken 
—  while  the  wind  shrieked  its  horrid  glee  —  my  growing 
love  for  it  was  turned  to  fear.  No,  I  can  never  care  for 
the  ocean  as  I  do  for  my  mountains.  I  cannot  forget 
that  it  was  the  waters  which  stole  my  dearest  treasures 
from  me. 

Still,  the  memory  of  that  storm  is  nearly  lost  in  the 
abounding  happiness  of  those  two  weeks,  and  the  third 
one  which  I  spent  with  my  Gertrude  Merriman,  who  stole 
it  from  her  many  cases  to  be  with  me.  When  I  set  down 
each  little  incident  of  them  in  black  and  white,  as  I  mean 
to  in  my  letter  to  Don,  they  will  appear  commonplace 
enough,  I'm  afraid ;  but  I  shall  tell  him  that  their  story 
is  written  on  my  heart  in  letters  of  gold  and  many  colors. 

He  pretends  to  be  interested  in  every  foolish  little 
thing  that  I  have  done,  but  I  don't  suppose  that  he  would 
care  to  read  about  all  the  new  dresses  I  have  bought. 
I  never  realized  before  that  a  girl  could  get  so  much 
pleasure  out  of  buying  pretty  things,  and  I  am  afraid  that 
he  would  scold  me  if  he  knew  how  many  leaves  I  have 
used  out  of  my  checkbook.  Not  that  they  have  been 
all  for  clothes,  little  diary.  I  did  not  realize  how  much 


286  "SMILES" 

I  had  given  to  war  charities,  and  I  was  a  little  frightened 
this  morning  when  I  made  up  my  balance. 

But  I  cannot  help  giving  for  the  poor  French  and  Bel- 
gian babies.  It  somehow  seems  as  though  I  were  giving 
the  money  to  Don  to  spend  for  me." 


There  follow  many  entries,  in  the  course  of  which 
the  name  of  Donald  appears,  and  many  more  in 
which  that  of  Philip,  from  which  one  might  reasonably 
draw  the  conclusion  that  the  latter  was  conscientiously 
performing  his  part  as  ad  interim  guardian  for  Rose. 
There  are  also  several  mentions  of  impish,  lovable 
Jimmy  —  he  of  the  red  hair,  presumably  —  and 
of  visits,  on  her  afternoons  off,  to  the  cheap  and  some- 
what squalid  apartment  where  he  lived  with  his 
thin,  tired,  t>ut  pitifully  optimistic  mother,  and  a 
stout,  florid-faced  father,  who  wore  shabby,  but  very 
loud-checked,  suits  and  was  apparently  a  highly 
successful  business  man  of  big  affairs,  but  frequently 
"temporarily  out  of  funds."  Indeed,  it  would  seem 
as  though  there  were  times  when  the  family  —  which 
included  six  other  children  from  one  to  ten  years 
old  —  would  actually  not  have  had  enough  to  eat 
if  Rose  had  not  "loaned"  the  wherewithal  to  purchase 
it  to  the  father  of  the  household. 

Under  date  of  May  isth,  1916,  appears  the  fol- 
lowing. 


"Two  black  bands  on   the  little  white  cap!    One 
round  table  nearer  the  wall !    Materia  medica,  orthopedia, 


THE   GOAL  287 


medical  analysis,  general  surgery,  bacteriology,  thera- 
peutics and  anaesthesia  no  longer  mere  words,  whose 
very  sound  made  me  weak  with  dismay;  but  terms 
descriptive  of  new  ways  in  which  I  can  help  weak  and 
suffering  babyhood.  It  has  been  hard,  but  soul-satisfy- 
ing, work.  I  love  it  all,  and  have  never  regretted  the 
decision  made,  centuries  ago  it  seems,  on  the  mountain. 
I  have  just  been  re-reading  Donald's  first  letter  to  me  — 
the  one  in  which  he  frankly  warned  me  of  the  hardships 
which  would  be  mine  to  face,  if  I  should  attempt  to  carry 
out  my  plan.  It  was,  I  think,  the  only  time  that  he  was 
ever  wrong  .  .  .  no,  I  had  forgotten  that  afternoon  at 
Judd's  still.  Work  may  be  hard,  and  yet  entail  no  hard- 
ship, especially  when  it  brings  the  satisfaction  of  winning 
against  odds.  I  know  that  he  did  not  really  mean  what 
he  said  in  that  letter.  It  was  written  merely  as  a  test  of 
my  resolve;  to  deter  me,  if  it  wasn't  strong  enough  to 
carry  me  through.  There  have  been  times  when  I  have 
myself  wondered  if  it  would,  but,  thanks  to  dear  old  Mr. 
Talmadge,  and  his  'sermon  on  the  mount'  I  have  always 
been  able  to  find  the  help  that  he  told  us  about.  I  wonder 
if  Donald  has,  too?  Surely  he  must  have,  he  has  been 
doing  such  wonderful  work  'over  there. '  It  is  like  him  to 
say  so  little  about  it  in  his  letters,  but  Dr.  Roland  gave 
us  a  talk  about  what  they  have  been  doing  hi  Toul  and 
Leslie,  when  he  returned  from  France,  and  he  sang  Donald's 
praises  fortissimo.  I  was  so  happy,  and  so  proud.1 

"They  all  tell  me  that  the  coming  year  is  the  hardest 
of  all  with  its  practical  training  at  the  Massachusetts 
General  Hospital,  and  in  the  Manhattan  Maternity  in 
New  York.  I  have  a  feeling  that  I  am  not  going  to  enjoy 
the  former.  Nursing  'grown-ups'  does  not  appeal  to 
me  as  the  caring  for  the  little  flowers  does.  But  I  shall 
love  the  other.  Motherhood  is  sacred  and  beautiful.  .  ,  , 

"  I  shall  have  to  be  very  economical  this  year,  little  diary, 


288  "SMILES" 

and  especially  careful  when  I  get  to  New  York.  When 
I  paid  the  final  installment  on  my  tuition  fee,  I  was 
frightened  to  find  how  little  remained  of  what  granddaddy 
left  me,  and  what  I  had  saved,  myself.  Nearly  thirteen 
hundred  dollars  looked  like  a  huge  fortune  to  me  in  those 
days,  but  it  is  nothing  at  all  in  a  city,  where  there  is  se 
much  poverty,  and  there  are  so  many  appeals  to  one's  heart. 
I  know  that  Donald  —  or  Philip  —  would  lend  me  a  little 
money  until  the  time  when  I  get  to  earning  it  for  myself, 
if  I  should  ask  them.  But  of  course  I  cannot  do  that. 
Perhaps  I  can  earn  a  little  during  my  afternoons  and 
evenings  off  duty.  The  girls  say  that  I  can  shampoo  and 
manicure  as  well  as  a  professional.  Yes,  I  will  try  to  do 
that  this  year. 


January  i5th,  1917. 

"Thank  goodness  my  worries  about  finances  are  al- 
most over ! 

"The  last  few  months  have  been  simply  terrible,  and 
the  hardest  part  of  all,  I  think,  has  been  my  not  being 
able  to  give  anything  to  the  number  of  splendid  causes 
which  so  touch  the  sympathies  these  dark  days.  Per- 
haps I  gave  too  much  before ;  but  I  am  not  a  bit  sorry, 
especially  now  that  some  of  the  seed  which  I  cast  upon  the 
waters  is  soon  to  bear  golden  fruit  for  me.  I  never 
believe  the  pessimistic  people  who  say  that  those  who 
receive  charity  are  never  really  grateful,  and  now  I  know 
that  they  are  wrong.  Jimmy's  father  has  been  so  ap- 
preciative of  my  pitifully  small  presents  to  them,  that 
sometimes  he  has  cried  over  them,  and  I  knew  that  he 
was  in  earnest  when  he  promised  to  repay  me  as  soon  as 
he  possibly  could.  Now  the  chance  has  come.  I  was 
there  yesterday  and  he  said  that  he  had  been  thinking 
about  me  just  before  I  appeared. 


THE   GOAL  289 

"It  seems  that  he  sells  stock,  and  has  just  obtained  a 
wonderful  position  as  agent,  or  whatever  they  call  it, 
for  a  new  copper  mine  which  he  says  is  better  than  the 
'Calumet  and  Hecla.' 

"He  explained  to  me  all  about  that  one  and  showed  me 
in  the  paper  how  high  it  was  selling  now  —  for  $550  a 
share.  He  is  the  sole  representative  for  all  of  New  Eng- 
land, and  he  says  that  the  company  is  at  present  selling 
its  stock  only  to  special  friends  in  order  to  'let  them  in  on 
the  ground  floor. '  The  shares  are  only  ten  dollars  apiece 
and  are  sure  to  be  worth  a  hundred,  or  more,  very  soon, 
because  of  the  war.  It  seems  almost  impossible!  I 
told  him  that  I  had  only  about  a  hundred  dollars  in  the 
world,  but  that,  if  he  really  felt  that  he  wanted  to  do  me 
a  favor,  I  inight  'invest'  it  (that  word  sounds  quite  im- 
pressive, doesn't  it?)  but  that  I  should  have  to  think  it 
over,  first.  I  remembered  what  Donald  had  told  me  about 
asking  a  man's  advice  —  especially  Philip's  —  in  money 
matters.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  wiser  if  I  had  done 
so  before. 

"I  asked  him  this  afternoon  if  he  knew  anything  about 
the  King  Kopper  Kompany,  and  he  said  that  it  was  a 
'get  rich  proposition'  and  that  he  had  sunk  a  good  deal 
of  his  own  money  into  some  just  like  it.  I  wanted  to 
ask  him  more,  but  we  were  interrupted.  However, 
I  know  that  he  is  very  well-to-do,  so  he  must  have  made 
money  in  them  and  certainly  I  need  to  get  rich  quick. 
I'm  goimg  to  make  the  investment  to-morrow." 


March  nth. 

"Stung!  I  hate  slang,  but  sometimes  nothing  else 
is  quite  so  expressive.  I  thought  that  I  was  getting  to  be 
very  wise,  but,  oh,  what  a  little  ignoramus  I  have  been. 
And  to  think  that  I  thought  I  was  following  Philip's 


290  "SMILES" 

advice,  and  did  not  realize  what  he  really  meant  until  I 
read  a  story  about  a  man  who  was  called  'Get-Rich- 
Quick  Waliingf ord. '  Now  I'd  rather  die  than  tell  him 
that  I  have  lost  practically  all  of  my  worldly  goods ! " 


Finally,  late  in  May,  is  an  entry,  longer  than  any 
of  its  predecessors,  and  the  last  for  many  a  day.  Rose 
made  it  seated  in  the  soft  moonlight  which  came 
through  the  window  of  her  hospital  room,  after  her 
roommate  had  fallen  asleep. 

"I  am  in  a  strange  mood  to-night,  little  diary,  and  not 
quite  sure  whether  I  want  to  laugh  or  cry  —  indeed, 
I  think  that  my  heart  has  done  both  to-day.  I  don't 
feel  like  going  to  sleep,  but  perhaps  I  will  be  able  to  if  I 
get  the  many  thoughts  out  of  my  mind  and  down  on 
paper  —  now  they  are  like  so  many  little  imps  beating 
against  my  brain  with  hammers. 

"  Surely  I  should  be  happy  at  the  thought  that  to-morrow 
is  to  carry  me  to  my  goal  at  the  top  of  the  mountain  path 
which  Donald  described.  In  twelve  hours  I  shall  (D.  V.) 
be  a  graduate  nurse ;  but,  now  that  the  journey  is  almost 
an  accomplished  fact,  I  positively  shiver  when  I  think  of 
the  nerve  of  that  child  who  was  I  five  years  ago  and  who, 
blessed  with  ignorance,  made  up  her  mind  to  become  one, 
or  'bust'  —  that  is  the  way  I  put  it,  then.  Friends  have 
sometimes  told  me  that  they  didn't  see  how  I  had  the 
courage  to  attempt  it;  but  I  tell  them,  truthfully,  that 
it  isn't  courage  when  one  tackles  a  thing  which  she  —  or 
he  —  doesn't  know  is  difficult  to  do,  and  that  few  things 
are  insurmountably  difficult  which  she  tackles  with  con- 
fidence (which  is  as  often  the  result  of  ignorance  as  of 
faith  in  one's  own  power).  So  how  can  I  take  any  credit 
for  succeeding? 


THE  GOAL 


"It  has  been  hard  work,  of  course,  and  I  know  that  I 
must  have  failed  if  every  one  had  not  been  so  good  to 
me,  and,  above  all,  if  God  had  not  meant  me  to  succeed. 
I  have  never  forgotten  that  night  when  the  'reverend* 
opened  my  eyes  to  the  knowledge  that  I  am  His  partner 
in  working  out  my  life.  Dear  Mr.  Talmadge !  I  am 
ashamed  that  I  stopped  writing  to  him,  so  long  ago, 
yet  I  know  that  he  is  still  my  friend,  although  we  do  not 
see  each  other.  That  is  the  beauty  of  true  friendship  —  it 
is  a  calm  and  constant  star,  always  in  its  place  against 
the  time  when  we  want  to  lift  our  eyes  to  seek  its  light. 
I  know  that  it  is  the  same  with  Donald. 

"When  I  think  of  him  to-night,  and  realize  that  he 
cannot  be  near  me  in  my  little  hoi^r  of  triumph  to-morrow, 
it  is  hard  for  me  to  keep  back  the  tears.  Dear  God,  bless 
him  and  bring  him  happiness  —  with  Miss  Treville. 

"  I  cannot  help  feeling  worried  about  Donald,  for,  al- 
though his  letter  makes  light  of  his  illness,  I  have  a  trouble- 
some presentiment  that  he  is  worse  than  he  will  acknowl- 
edge. He  is  the  kind  to  spend  every  ounce  of  his  wonder- 
ful vitality  without  thought  of  self,  and  the  two  and  a 
half  years  during  which  he  has  been  laboring  so  hard,  and 
so  effectively,  must  have  drained  even  his  great  strength. 
Slight,  wiry  people  are  like  the  willows  that  bend  easily, 
but  return  to  normal  quickly,  after  the  stress  of  storm  has 
ended;  but,  when  big  ones  —  like  Donald  —  break,  it 
is  like  the  fall  of  a  mighty  oak. 

"Still,  this  cloud,  like  all  clouds,  has  its  bright  lining. 
He  is  coming  home,  just  as  soon  as  he  is  able  to  make  the 
trip,  so,  although  I  shall  miss  him  dreadfully  to-morrow, 
it  will  not  be  many  weeks  before  I  shall  see  him  again. 

"  But  this  is  not  all  that  is  troubling  me,  diary,  and  if 
I  were  not  quite  sure  that  no  one  but  I  would  ever  look 
inside  your  covers,  I  would  not  confide  it  even  to  you. 

"  I  have  a  present,  a  wonderful  present,  —  and  I  do  not 


292  "SMILES" 

think  that  I  ought  to  keep  it.  Help  me  make  up  my 
mind.  When  P.  gave  it  to  me  this  afternoon,  he  said 
that  it  was  just  a  little  remembrance  for  my  graduation 
and  that  he  hoped  I  would  accept  it  as  the  gift  of  a  semi- 
official guardian,  just  as  I  would  if  Donald  himself  were 
giving  it  to  me.  I  did  take  it  in  that  spirit;  but,  when 
I  found  a  moment  to  steal  away  and  open  the  wrapper, 
and  beheld  a  beautiful  morocco  case  containing  a  gold 
•watch  with  my  initials  engraved  on  the  case,  my  heart 
almost  stopped  beating.  This  was  his  'little  remem- 
brance.' Of  course  it  is  something  that  I  shall  need  in 
my  work,  for  it  has  a  second  hand,  but  he  must  have 
guessed  that  I  would  be  troubled  by  such  an  expensive 
gift,  for  he  tried  to  make  light  of  it  by  enclosing  a  foolish 
little  rhyme,  which  I  must  copy  so  that  I  shall  not  forget 
it 

'When  it  is  time  to  take  hour  pulse 
You'll  find  a  use  for  what  is  in  it,* 
(On  second  thoughts,  I'd  like  to  add 
I  wish  you'd  take  mine  every  mimde.)' 

"  Conventions  are  so  puzzling,  little  diary,  that  I  don't 
know  what  I  ought  to  do.  Somehow,  I  feel  quite  sure 
that  the  Superintendent  wouldn't  approve,  for  a  doctor 
should  not  be  making  presents  to  a  pupil  nurse ;  yet  P. 
has  been  so  kind  that  I  hate  to  think  of  hurting  his  feel- 
ings by  giving  it  back.  Besides,  I  love  it  ...  and  it 
is  engraved  R.  W.  Then,  too,  if  I  should  return  it,  he 
might  think  that  I  didn't  credit  him  with  having  done  it 
while  acting  in  Donald's  place  as  my  guardian,  and  if  it 
was  not  that  thought  which  prompted  him,  why.  .  .  . 
Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  do ! 

"Worse  still,  Dorothy  Roberts  came  up  unexpectedly 
and  saw  the  watch.    Of  course  she  wanted  to  know  from 

*  Poetical  license  —  meaning  'what  is  in  the  box.' 


THE   GOAL  293 


whom  it  came  and  I  answered,  on  the  impulse,  '  From  my 
guardian.'  I'm  sure  that  she  believes  that  it  was  a 
present  from  Donald  and  therefore  perfectly  proper,  for 
I  have  told  her  all  about  his  relationship  to  me,  and  it 
hurts  me  to  think  that  I  have  been  guilty  of  a  lie.  Of 
course  it  wasn't  one  in  actual  words,  perhaps ;  but  I  had 
the  spirit  to  deceive,  and  now  I  can't  confess  without  in- 
volving P.  and  she  might  think  that  he  is  rn  ...  Oh, 
I  can't  write  it,  for  of  course  he  isn't.  How  could  he  be? 
No,  it  was  just  a  natural  act  of  his  generous  heart,  be- 
cause he  knew  that  I  was  without  relatives  to  give  me  a 
graduation  gift. 

"I  hope  that  I  sleep  my  uncertainties  away,  for  to- 
morrow must  hold  nothing  but  sunshine  and  smiles." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"BUT  A  ROSE  HAS  THORNS" 

THE  May  day,  the  day  of  fulfilment  for  Smiles' 
ilreams  and  the  fruition  of  her  work,  had  come.  Her 
healthy,  mountain-bred  body  had  enabled  her  to 
keep  well  and  strong;  she  had  gone  through  the 
full  three  years  with  scarcely  a  day's  illness,  and  she 
was  ready  to  graduate  with  the  class,  some  of  whom 
would  have  to  stay  longer  to  make  up  time  lost  by 
illness. 

Rose  awoke  early  to  a  sense  of  something  unusual 
in  prospect.  On  the  window  of  her  room  the  rain 
was  pattering  merrily.  All  nature  was  one  to  her, 
and  she  loved  the  showers  as  much  as  the  sunshine, 
but,  when  she  began  to  realize  what  day  it  was, 
they  brought  a  feeling  of  vague  disappointment. 
Surely  this  day,  which  meant  so  much  in  her  life, 
might  have  dawned  fair !  The  glimpse  of  a  leaden 
sky  colored  her  thoughts  for  a  moment,  as  she  lay 
still  in  the  drowsy  relaxation  of  half-awakening, 
when  dreams  beckon  from  dolce  far  niente  land, 
and  the  whispering  voice  of  slumber  mingles  with  the 
more  stirring  call  of  the  brain  to  be  up  and  doing. 
The  recollection  that  Donald  was  far  away,  and  could 
not  be  with  her  to  witness  her  triumph,  brought 

294 


"BUT  A   ROSE   HAS   THORNS"     295 

a  sense  of  bitter  disappointment  to  her  over  again. 
"I  must  write  him  everything  that  happens  to-day. 
He  will  be  happy  in  my  happiness,  I  know,"  she 
murmured,  half  aloud,  and  her  roommate  awoke 
and  answered  with  a  sleepy,  "What,  dear?" 

"Nothing.  I  guess  that  I  must  have  been  talking 
in  my  sleep,"  laughed  Rose,  as  she  now  sat  up  ener- 
getically, fully  awake.  By  their  own  request 
Dorothy  Roberts  and  she  still  occupied  one  of  the 
few  double  rooms  reserved  for  third- year  student 
nurses,  who  preferred  to  share  their  quarters. 

The  other  followed,  more  drowsily. 

"Look,"  called  Rose,  from  the  window.  "It's 
going  to  clear.  Oh,  see  that  wonderful  rainbow. 
I  don't  believe  I  ever  saw  one  in  the  morning  before." 

"'Rainbow  at  morning,  sailors  take  warning,"' 
quoted  Dorothy. 

"I  don't  believe  in  that,  or  any  other  unpleasant 
'stupidstition'  —  as  my  reverend  used  to  call  them," 
Rose  retorted,  as  she  hastily  began  to  dress,  for  the 
last  time,  in  the  blue  striped  costume  which  had  been 
hers  for  nearly  three  years,  but  was,  in  a  few  hours, 
to  change  to  one  pure  white,  like  a  sombre  chrysalis 
to  a  radiant  butterfly.  "No  matter  when  a  rainbow 
appears  it  is  always  an  omen  of  fair  promise.  It's 
Mother  Nature  smiling  through  her  tears." 

She  caught,  in  the  mirror,  a  reflection  of  her  friend's 
affectionate  glance ;  her  own  cheek  began  to  dimple 
and  her  lips  to  curve  as  she  said,  "I  can  tell  by  your 
expression  just  what  you're  going  to  say,  and  .  .  .  ." 


296  "SMILES" 

"Egoist,"  mocked  the  other.  "I  hadn't  the  slight- 
est idea  of  comparing  your  own  smile  to  a  rainbow, 
so  now." 

"I  can't  help  it,  really."  Rose  spoke  with  un- 
feigned distress  in  her  voice,  and  began  angrily  to 
massage  the  corners  of  her  mouth  downward.  "There's 
something  wrong  with  the  muscles  of  my  face,  I  think, 
and  sometimes  I  get  worried  for  fear  people  will 
think  that  it's  affectation.  I  get  frightfully  tired  of 
seeing  a  perpetually  forced  grin  on  other  faces  — 
it  reminds  me  of  Mr.  William  Shakespeare's  remark 
that  'a  man  may  smile  and  be  a  villain  still/" 

"Not  with  your  kind,  dear.  'There's  a  painted 
smile  on  the  lip  that  lies,  when  the  villain  plays  his 
part;  and  the  smile  in  the  depths  of  the  honest 
eyes  —  and  this  is  the  smile  of  the  heart.' " 

"Or  of  the  cheerful  idiot,"  supplemented  Rose. 
"Do  you  really  think  that  I'm  .  .  .  shallow? 
Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  the  truly  wise,  thought- 
ful people,  who  search  the  deeps  of  life  and  are  them- 
selves strongly  stirred,  are  always  serious  looking." 

"Pooh.  It's  generally  pose,  and  a  much  easier 
one  to  get  away  with.  I  always  discount  it  about 
ninety-nine  per  cent." 

"But,  at  least,  otkers  must  think  that  I  am  always 
happy,  and  I'm  not — sometimes  I  wish  that  I  might 
be ;  but  not  often,  for  one  would  have  to  be  utterly 
selfish  and  unsympathetic  in  order  to  be  so,  when 
there  is  so  much  suffering  everywhere." 

"I  know,  and  feel  the  same  way,  Rose.     But   it 


"BUT  A  ROSE  HAS  THORNS"    297 

seems  to  me  that  a  smile  —  at  least  one  like  yours  — 
isn't  so  much  the  visible  expression  of  joy,  as  it  is 
a  symbol  of  cheer-  for  others  .  .  .  like  a  rainbow. 
There,  I  vowed  that  I  wouldn't,  and  now  I've  '  gone 
and  went  and  done  it. ' " 

Miss  Roberts  spoke  lightly,  to  cover  a  suspicious 
huskiness  in  her  voice,  for  she  worshipped  the  girl 
who  had  been  so  close  to  her  for  three  years,  and 
whose  way  and  hers  would  necessarily  diverge  after 
that  morning. 

"Don't  you  dare  to  forget  how  to  smile.  We  all 
love  it,"  she  added,  with  an  assumption  of  a  bully- 
ing tone ;  and  then  the  two  held  each  other  very  close 
and  laughed  and  cried,  both  together,  for  a  moment. 
They  finished  dressing  in  unusual  silence,  for  the 
thoughts  of  each  were  busy  with  the  things  which 
the  day  and  the  future  might  bring  forth  for  them. 

Contrary  to  custom,  Dorothy  finished  first,  and 
preceded  Rose  downstairs. 

When  the  latter  reached  the  little  assembly  room, 
she  found  a  small  group  of  pupil  nurses  standing  in 
the  doorway.  One  was  reading  something  from  a 
page  of  a  sensational  afternoon  newspaper,  dated 
the  day  previous,  and,  as  Smiles  joined  them,  she 
hastily  slipped  it  out  of  sight  behind  her.  All  of 
them  appeared  so  self-conscious,  that  the  new  arrival 
stopped  with  a  queer  tightening  about  her  heart. 

"Show  it  to  her,"  said  Dorothy,  quietly.  "She's 
bound  to  hear  of  it  sooner  or  later." 

The  sinking  sensation  within    Rose's  breast   in- 


298  "SMILES" 

creased,  and  she  stepped  forward,  saying  faintly, 
"What  is  it,  Dolly?  Not  ...  not  Dr.  Mac- 
Donald?  Nothing  has  happened  .  .  .  ?" 

"No,  dear.  That  is  ...  well,  it  concerns  him; 
but  I  think  that,  if  anything,  he  is  to  be  congratu- 
lated. It  is  something  to  find  out.  .  .  .  Here,  read 
it  yourself." 

She  took  the  paper  from  the  owner,  and  handed  it 
to  Rose. 

It  was  the  page  devoted  to  happenings  in  society, 
and  from  the  top  centre  looked  forth  a  two-column 
cut  of  Marion  Treville's  strikingly  beautiful  face. 
Beneath  was  a  stick  of  text,  which  read : 

"Back  Bay  society  is  buzzing  with  the  rumor,  which 
comes  from  an  apparently  unimpeachable  source,  that 
the  beautiful  Miss  Treville  of  Beacon  Street,  who,  since 
her  debut  seven  years  ago,  has  been  one  of  the  leaders  of 
Boston's  smartest  set,  is  about  to  announce  her  engage- 
ment to  Stanley  Everts  Vandermeer,  the  well-known  New 
York  millionaire  sportsman.  Miss  Treville  was  formerly 
betrothed  to  Dr.  Donald  MacDonald,  the  famous  chil- 
dren's specialist  of  this  city,  who  has  been  in  France 
for  more  than  two  years.  No  previous  intimation  had 
been  given  that  this  engagement  had  been  broken." 

Rose  read  the  brief  article  twice,  mechanically, 
and  almost  without  understanding.  Then  a  wave  of 
hot  anger,  akin  to  that  which  had  possessed  her  on 
the  mountain  on  the  afternoon  when  her  eyes  had 
first  been  opened  to  the  duplicity  of  human  nature, 
swept  over  her.  It  was  only  by  a  strong  effort  that 


"BUT  A  ROSE   HAS  THORNS" 

she  refrained  from  crushing  the  sheet,  and  speaking 
aloud  her  denunciation  of  the  woman  whose  behavior 
so  outraged  her  sense  of  justice. 

The  call  came  for  the  morning  prayer,  and  she 
handed  the  paper  back  without  a  word;  but  for 
once  the  simple  exercises,  which,  on  this  morning, 
should  have  meant  so  much  more  than  usual,  wholly 
failed  to  bring  their  customary  peace.  Her  lips 
formed  the  words  of  the  prayer,  and  joined  in  the 
singing  of  the  hymn,  but  her  mind  was  far  away  in 
France,  and  her  heart  rebellious  within  her. 

Her  thoughts  did  not  harbor  a  doubt  of  Donald's 
love  for  theAvoman,  who,  it  was  said  on  "apparently 
unimpeachable "  authority,  had  now  discarded  him 
for  another  and  wealthier  suitor.  To  be  sure,  he  had 
not  married  her,  as  he  might  have,  before  he  went 
away ;  but  this  was  not  strange,  under  the  conditions ; 
indeed,  she  thought  it  to  his  credit,  since  he  had  left 
to  be  away  so  long  in  the  performance  of  a  hard  and 
hazardous  duty.  And  surely  Donald  had  remained 
true  I  Anything  else  was  unthinkable,  and,  besides, 
Ethel  often  spoke  of  her  sister-in-law-to-be,  and  of 
the  marriage  which  would  quickly  follow  her  brother's 
return.  That  Miss  Treville  had  apparently  remained 
so  faithful,  also,  had  helped  to  banish  some  of  Smiles' 
uncertain  feelings  concerning  her,  and  she  had  begun 
to  hope  that  some  day  she  might  succeed  in  finding 
the  key  to  the  city  woman's  heart  and  enter  the  fold 
of  her  friendship,  for  she  could  not  bear  the  idea  that 
Donald's  marriage  might  result  in  Donald's  being 


300  "SMILES" 

estranged  from  her,  or  cause  a  break  in  their  wonderful 
friendship.  Now  her  thoughts  railed  against  the 
woman  who  had  been  so  unstable,  at  a  time  when 
keeping  faith  with  those  who  went,  perhaps  to  die, 
had  become  a  nation's  watchword.  This  thought 
completely  superseded  the  one  that  had  sometimes 
been  hers  —  that  the  woman  was  not  worthy  the 
love  of  the  man  whom  she,  herself,  worshipped.  It 
was  like  a  mother,  suffering  for  her  hurt  child,  and 
her  lips  quivered  with  suppressed  hate.  It  passed, 
and  left  her  almost  frightened. 

"I  guess  that  I'm  still  a  mountaineer  at  heart," 
she  whispered,  as  she  mechanically  bowed  her  head 
with  the  others.  "I  almost  feel  as  though  I  could 
kill  her.  Poor  Donald !  He  has  always  been  so 
blindly  trusting  where  his  heart  was  concerned.  .  .  . 
Perhaps  Dorothy  is  right,  perhaps  he  is  better  off, 
if  it  is  true ;  but  if  this  embitters  him,  if  it  spoils  his 
faith  in  womankind,  I  shall  hate  her  as  long  as  I 
live."  Then  came  the  reflection  that  the  report  might 
not  be  true.  "I  shall  go  and  ask  her,  myself,  this 
afternoon ! " 

Smiles  arose  from  her  knees,  aged  in  soul. 

She  had  looked  forward  to  this  morning  with  all  the 
eager  anticipation  of  a  child ;  but  now,  as  she  donned 
the  white  uniform  of  a  graduate  nurse  —  the  costume 
which  represented  the  full  attainment  of  the  hard-won 
goal,  —  no  smile  greeted  her  as  she  looked  at  her  own 
reflection  in  the  glass. 

Donald  was  right,"  she  murmured.     "I  am  just 


"BUT  A  ROSE  HAS  THORNS"    301 

beginning  to  realize  that  even  this  fulfilment  of  my 
dream  is  not  going  to  bring  me  happiness.  It  is 
born  of  the  heart,  or  not  at  all."  And  her  mind 
travelled  back  to  the  letter  which  she  had  tearfully 
penned  him  after  Big  Jerry's  death.  "Things  never 
happen  just  as  we  plan.  When  we  look  forward  to 
something  pleasant  which  we  want  very  much  to 
happen,  we  never  stop  to  think  that  there  may  be 
unhappiness  mixed  with  it."  A  solitary  tear  ran 
down  her  cheek,  and  made  a  moist  spot  on  the  front 
of  her  new  uniform. 

The  smile,  usually  spontaneous,  had  to  be  forced 
to  her  lips  when  she  went  to  take  her  place,  with  the 
score  of  other  happy  graduating  nurses,  in  the  am- 
phitheatre of  the  Harvard  Medical  School,  next  door, 
where  the  exercises  were  to  be  held. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  my  Rose?"  wondered 
Miss  Merriman,  who  had  managed  to  be  present. 
And,  "What  is  the  matter  with  my  Rose?"  thought 
Dr.  Bentley.  He  had  seen  her  for  just  a  moment 
that  morning,  and,  through  the  warm,  lingering 
pressure  of  her  hand,  received  the  thanks  which  she 
could  not  speak. 

It  was,  in  truth,  a  very  sober  Smiles  who  only  half- 
heard  the  words  of  the  impressively  simple  exercises, 
during  which  the  newly  made  laborers  in  the  Lord's 
vineyard  received  the  diplomas  which  bore  the  seal 
of  the  hospital  —  a  Madonna-like  nurse,  holding  a 
child.  Its  original,  cast  in  bronze  —  the  work  of  a 
famous  modern  sculptor  —  hung  in  the  administra- 


302  "SMILES" 

tion  building  of  the  hospital,  and  she  had  often  stood 
before  it  with  tender  dreams.  And  it  was  a  very 
sober  Smiles  upon  whose  dress  was  pinned  the  blue 
and  gold  cross,  the  emblem  alike  of  achievement  and 
service. 

Miss  Merriman  spoke  her  thought  aloud,  as  she 
took  the  girl  into  her  arms,  afterwards.  "You 
looked  too  sweet  for  words,  dear.  But,  tell  me, 
why  that  woe-begone  expression  on  this,  of  all  days? 
One  would  think  that  all  the  worries  of  the  world 
lay  on  your  young  heart." 

"Perhaps  they  do,"  was  the  non-committal  answer. 
And  Rose  pleaded  a  previous  engagement  when  the 
older  nurse  begged  her  company  for  the  afternoon,  and 
Dr.  Bentley  for  the  evening. 

The  happy  laughter,  the  parting  words,  both  grave 
and  gay,  which  were  spoken  by  those  who  had  been 
her  companions  during  the  long  journey,  fell  on  ears 
which  heard,  but  transmitted  them  to  her  mind 
vaguely,  and  her  answers  were  inconsequential,  so 
much  so,  that  more  than  one  friend  regarded  her  with 
troubled  surprise  and  whispered  to  another  that  Rose 
was  either  not  well,  or  was  dazed  with  happiness. 
And  when  Dorothy  ventured  to  hint  at  the  latter 
alternative,  the  girl  acknowledged  it  with  a  strained 
imitation  of  her  usual  smile,  and  straightway  found  her 
thoughts  scourging  her  because  of  this  new  deception. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  day,  for  which  she  had 
builded  so  long,  was  tumbling  about  its  foundations, 
and  yet,  when  she  now  and  again  brought  her  run- 


"BUT  A  ROSE  HAS  THORNS"    303 

away  thoughts  up  with  a  round  turn,  she  could  not 
assign  any  logical  reason  for  her  feeling  as  she  did. 

"After  all,  what  is  it  to  me?"  she  would  ask  her- 
self, logically,  one  moment.  And  at  the  next  her 
heart  would  reply,  "  Every  thing.  He  is  all  that  you 
have  in  the  world  in  the  way  of  'family,'  for  he  is 
more  than  friend  to  you."  "Yes,"  Rose  would 
admit,  "  I  am  afraid  for  him,  I  could  not  be  more  so 
if  he  were  really  my  brother.  She  isn't  worthy  of 
him  —  I've  known  that,  somehow,  since  the  first 
day  that  he  tried  to  tell  me  about  her.  But  that 
isn't  the  point.  Love  is  blind,  and,  if  her  faithless- 
ness hurts  him,  I  will  hate  her  always.  I  hate  her 
nmu.  She  has  spoiled  my  day,  and  I  know  that  I 
have  hurt  Gertrude  and  Philip,  for  they  can't  under- 
stand what  the  trouble  is." 

The  idea  passed  over  and  over  through  the  endless 
labyrinth  of  her  brain  and  found  no  escape,  while 
she  ate  the  noonday  meal,  and  later  changed  from  her 
white  uniform  to  a  plain  blue  serge  walking  dress, 
and  black  sailor  hat.  Ever  with  it  went  the  accom- 
panying thought,  "I  must  see  her."  To  what  end 
she  did  not  know  or  seriously  attempt  to  analyze. 
Rose  was  not  the  first  to  take  up  cudgels  in  a  lost 
cause,  spurred  thereto  by  a  purpose  which  was  in- 
capable of  receiving  any  logical  explanation.  It 
was  the  "mother  spirit,"  fighting  for  its  own. 

A  maid  opened  the  door  on  Beacon  street  in  re- 
sponse to  her  ring,  and,  on  entering  the  hall,  Rose 


304  "SMILES'* 

found  herself  face  to  face  with  Marion  Treville. 
She  was  clad  for  the  street  and  was  at  that  moment 
in  the  act  of  buttoning  a  long  white  glove.  As  she 
recognized  the  visitor,  a  deep  flush  mounted  quickly 
on  the  patrician  face  of  the  older  woman  and,  for  an 
instant,  her  teeth  caught  her  lower  lip. 

Smiles'  face  was  very  pale,  so  pale  that  her  large 
eyes  by  contrast  appeared  almost  startling  in  their 
depth  and  color.  There  was  a  gossamer  film  of 
dust  on  her  shoes  and  the  bottom  of  her  skirt,  for 
she  had  walked  all  the  way  from  the  hospital,  and 

she  realized  this  fact  with  a  sense  of  chagrin,  when 

i    •« 

she  saw  Miss  Treville 's  eyes  travel  to  her  feet,  and 
mentally  contrasted  her  own  appearance  with  that  of 
the  perfectly  appointed  daughter  of  wealth  before  her. 

Neither  spoke  for  an  instant.  It  was  as  though 
each  were  trying  to  read  the  thoughts  of  the  other. 
Then  Miss  Treville  said  in  a  cool,  even  tone,  "You 
may  go,  Louise." 

The  maid  vanished  silently,  with  one  curious  back- 
ward glance  as  she  passed  through  the  door  at  the 
end  of  the  hallway. 

"Miss  .  .  .  Webb,  isn't  it?  You  wished  to 
see  .  .  .?" 

"Tell  me  that  it  isn't  true,"  broke  in  Rose,  her 
voice  trembling  a  little  in  spite  of  her  effort  at  self- 
control. 

"Tell  you  it  isn't  .  .  .  true?"  echoed  the  other, 
with  lifted  eyebrows.  "I'm  afraid  that  I  don't 
quite  underst  .  .  .  ." 


"BUT  A  ROSE  HAS  THORNS"    305 

"But  you  do  understand,  Miss  Treville,  why  do 
you  say  that  you  don't?  It  is  in  the  paper." 

"Perhaps  I  meant  to  say  that  I  do  not  understand 
why  you  should  come  here  to  ask  such  a  question, 
Miss  Webb,"  was  the  icy  response. 

Rose  was  silent.  What  answer  could  she  make  to 
this  pertinent  question?  She  felt  the  hot  tears 
starting  to  her  eyes ;  but,  even  as  she  was  on  the 
point  of  turning  toward  the  door,  with  a  little  choked 
sob  of  bitter  chagrin,  the  other  continued.  Curiosity 
had  unloosed  her  tongue. 

"Well?  May  I  be  so  bold  as  to  inquire  what 
interest  you  may  have  in  my  personal  affairs,  Miss 
Webb?  Frankly,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  this  unexpected,  and  —  I  might  say  — 
somewhat  unusual  visit." 

"I  ...  I  don't  know  as  I  can  explain,"  began 
Hose,  hesitantly.  "I  ...  I  felt  that  I  had  to 
see  you,  because  ...  I  had  a  letter  yesterday 
from  .  .  .  from  Dr.  MacDonald.  .  .  ." 

"Ah." 

"Of  course  he  writes  to  me,  you  know  that  he  is 
my  guardian,"  she  answered  the  interruption  with  a 
flash  of  spirit.  "He  said  in  it  that  he  was  coming 
home  just  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  ...  to  get 
well  and  ...  be  married,  and  then  that  paper. 
.  .  .  Oh,  Miss  Treville,  surely  it  isn't  so.  You 
wouldn't  throw  him  over,  when  he  is  so  far  away, 
and  .  .  .  and  sick?" 

The  other's  voice  was  not  quite  as-steady  as  before, 


306  "SMILES" 

when  she  answered,  "I  don't  see  why  I  am  called 
upon  to  explain  my  ...  to  explain  anything  to 
you,  Miss  Webb." 

"Then  it  is  true."  The  sentence  rang  out  sharply. 
"And  he  doesn't  know.  He  thinks  that  you  are 
v/aiting,  and  ..." 

"We  need  not  discuss  the  matter,  in  fact  I  doubt 
if  the  doctor  would  appreciate  your  .  .  .  shall  we 
say  '  championage '  ?  The  matter  is  between  him 
and  me,  wholly." 

"No,  it  is  not,  Miss  Treville, "  flared  Rose,  with 
the  angry  color  at  last  flooding  her  cheeks.  "I 
have  heard  people  say  that,  if  that  story  is  true,  he 
is  lucky  to  have  escaped  marrying  you ;  but,  just 
the  same,  those  of  us  who  really  love  him  —  you 
needn't  look  like  that,  of  course  I  love  him  —  don't 
want  to  have  him  hurt,  as  any  man  would  be  who  was 
cast  off  like  an  old  glove  while  he  was  far  away  and 
had  no  chance  to  speak  for  himself.  That  is  why  I 
hoped  it  wasn't  true,  and  that  you  hadn't,  perhaps, 
killed  his  faith  in  my  kind.  And  that  is  the  only 
reason." 

Once  started,  her  words  had  poured  out  as  hot  as 
lava  which  had  broken  from  a  pent-up  volcano. 

"So,  that  is  the  reason,  the  only  reason,  for  your 
coming  to  me  with  your  impertinent  question?" 
Miss  Treville  laughed  oddly.  "Really!  Do  you 
know,  I  have  always  suspected  that  the  little  savage 
whom  he  brought  from  somewhere  in  the  backwoods 
regarded  him  as  rather  more  than  a  guardian,  or  a 


"BUT  A  ROSE  HAS  THORNS"    307 

brother  .  .  .  that  was  the  pretty  fiction,  wasn't 
it?"  she  added,  with  honey  coating  the  vinegar  in 
her  speech. 

Under  the  lash  of  the  words  Rose  grew  white  again. 
Her  hands  clenched ;  but,  before  she  could  answer, 
Miss  Treville  continued : 

"It  really  seems  to  me  that  you  ought  to  thank  me 
for  stepping  aside  so  obligingly." 

The  occupation  of  a  high  level  in  the  civilized 
world,  or  in  society,  is  no  proof  of  the  Christian  virtue 
of  self-control,  —  that  has  been  demonstrated,  in 
the  case  of  a  nation,  all  too  clearly  these  last  years ; 
and  individuals  are  like  nations,  or  vice  versa.  The 
feline  that  lies  dormant,  as  often  in  the  finished  prod- 
uct of  city  convention  as  in  the  breast  of  the  prime- 
val woman,  was  now  thrusting  out  its  claws  from  the 
soft  paws  of  breeding.  And  Miss  Marion  Treville, 
leader  of  Back  Bay  society,  was  rather  enjoying  the 
sensation.  She  had  passed  not  a  few  uncomfortable 
hours  in  company  with  her  conscience,  even  while 
she  was  yielding  to  the  glamorous  flame  which  sur- 
rounded her  new  suitor.  It  was  a  real  relief  for  her 
to  be  able  to  "take  it  out"  on  some  one  else,  and  a 
victim  had  offered  herself  for  the  sacrifice,  most 
opportunely. 

Rose  shrank  back  as  though  she  had  been  struck ; 
then  steadied  herself  and  said  with  an  effort  —  for 
her  throat  and  lips  were  dry,  "I  think  that  perhaps 
you  were  right  when  you  called  me  a  'little  savage.' 
I  know  that  I  feel  like  one  in  my  heart  now,  and  I 


308  "SMILES" 


think,  too,  that  it  would  be  a  real  pleasure  for  me  to 
...  to  ..." 

The  other  stepped  hastily  back,  and  Rose  laughed, 
bitterly. 

"Oh,  please  don't  be  frightened,  I'm  not  going  to 
scratch  you.  We  wood  people  don't  fight  with  your 
kind  of  animal,  they're  too  unpleasant  at  close  range." 
She  paused,  and  then  went  on  more  steadily.  "I 
came  here  ...  I  didn't  know  just  why  I  was  com- 
ing, —  perhaps  to  plead  with  you  for  Donald's 
sake.  That  doesn't  look  much  as  though  I  loved 
him  ...  in  the  way  you  insinuate,  does  it?  No, 
if  I  had,  I  should  have  won  him  away  from  you, 
long  ago.  It  would  not  have  been  difficult,  I  think." 

She  spoke  so  coolly,  and  with  such  perfect  con- 
fidence, that  the  other  winced. 

"There  isn't  anything  more  to  be  said,  is  there?" 

Was  this  the  simple  mountain  girl,  whose  voice 
was  now  so  suave  and  who  was  smiling  so  icily  ? 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Miss  Treville's 
trembling  hand  sought  behind  her  and  found  the 
servants'  bell  cord. 

"I  am  really  glad  that  I  called,  Miss  Treville,  for 
you  have  succeeded  in  convincing  me  that  I  have 
no  occasion  to  be  disturbed  —  on  Donald's  account." 

"Miss  Webb  is  going,"  said  Miss  Treville,  formally, 
as  the  maid  appeared. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AN  INTERLUDE 

All  things  by  immortal  power, 

Near  or  far, 

Hiddenly. 

To  each  other  linked  are 

That  thou  canst  not  stir  a  flower 

Without  troubling  a  star. 

A.  QUILLER-COFCH. 

LIFE  is  so  largely  a  thing  of  intermingling  currents, 
of  interwoven  threads,  of  reacting  forces,  that  it  is 
well-nigh  impossible  understandingly  to  portray  the 
life  story  of  one  person  without  occasionally  pausing 
to  review,  at  least  briefly,  incidents  in  the  lives  of 
others  with  which  it  is  closely  bound  up. 

So  it  is  with  the  story  of  the  pilgrimage  of  Smiles. 

While,  following  her  graduation,  she  was  takiag 
a  course  in  district  nursing,  giving  freely  of  her  new 
powers  to  the  poor  and  suffering  of  a  great  city, 
and  taking,  and  passing,  the  State  examination  which 
gave  her  the  right  to  place  the  epigrammatic  letters 
"R.N."  after  her  name,  something  was  happening 
more  than  three  thousand  miles  away,  of  which  she 
had  no  inkling,  and  yet  which  was  closely  linked 
with  her  existence. 

3*9 


310  "SMILES" 

Donald  had,  indeed,  written  in  a  manner  to  mini- 
mize his  illness,  which  had  been  a  prolonged  a»d 
serious  one ;  so  much  so  that  he  had,  greatly  against 
his  will,  finally  come  to  realize  the  necessity  of  his 
taking  a  rest  from  his  unremitting  toil,  and  he  had 
agreed  to  return  home  for  a  vacation  as  soon  as  he 
should  be  well  enough  to  make  the  long  trip. 

Depressed  by  his  wholly  unaccustomed  weakness 
the  doctor  sat,  a  convalescent  in  his  own  hospital 
in  Toul,  one  stifling  July  day.  To  his  physical  de- 
bility was  added  the  dragging  distress  of  mind  which 
comes  at  times  to  those  who  are  far  away  and  receive 
no  word  from  home.  No  letters  had  reached  him 
for  weeks.  Removed  from  the  sphere  of  the  abnormal 
activity  which  had  been  his,  and  with  nothing  to  do 
but  sit  and  think,  Donald  had,  for  some  time,  been 
examining  his  own  heart  with  an  introspective  gaze 
more  searching  than  ever  before.  He  felt  that  he 
had  been,  above  the  average,  blessed  with  happy 
relationships,  deep  friendships  and  a  highly  trained 
ability  to  serve  others  —  and  he  knew  that  he  could 
honestly  say  that  he  had  turned  this  to  full  account. 

Besides,  he  was  betrothed  to  a  beautiful  woman 
whom  many  coveted.  When  his  mind  reached  Marion 
Treville  in  its  consideration,  it  stopped  to  build  a 
dream  castle  around  her,  a  castle  not  in  Spain,  but 
in  America.  He  had  earned  the  right  to  rest  beside 
the  road  awhile,  and  enjoy  the  good  things  of  life. 
Marion  was  waiting  for  him  at  home,  and  whatever 
doubts  had,  at  one  or  another  time,  entered  his  mind 


AN  INTERLUDE  311 

as  to  their  perfect  suitability,  one  for  the  other,  they 
had  long  since  been  banished.  Distance  had  lent 
its  enchantment,  and  he  had  supplied  her  with  the 
special  virtues  that  he  desired.  His  was  a  type  of 
mind  which  held  to  one  thought  at  a  time,  and  he 
had  always  possessed  a  fixedness  of  purpose  of  a  kind 
well  calculated  to  carry  through  any  plan  which 
that  mind  conceived.  Combined,  these  characteris- 
tics made  a  form  of  egotism,  not  one  which  caused 
him  to  overrate  himself,  but  to  plough  ahead  regardless 
of  the  strength  of  the  possible  opposition.  When 
he  returned  to  America  he  would  marry  Marion 
Treville  immediately.  No  other  idea  had  seriously 
entered  his  mind  since  they  had  plighted  their  troth ; 
they  had  not  been  quite  ready  before,  that  was  all, 
he  told  himself. 

It  was  in  such  a  frame  of  mind,  and  with  a  growing 
eagerness  for  the  day  when  he  might  start  for  home 
to  claim  his  reward,  that  he  received  her  long-delayed 
letter.  What  it  said  does  not  matter ;  but  one  para- 
graph summed  up  her  whole  confession.  "You  can- 
not but  agree  with  me  that  ours  was  never  the  love 
of  a  man  and  woman  whose  hearts  were  attuned 
to  one  another,  and  sang  in  perfect  unison.  We 
really  drifted  into  an  engagement  more  because  of 
propinquity  than  anything  else.  I  am  a  drone  —  the 
product  of  society  at  its  worst  —  and  you  are  one 
of  the  workers,  Donald.  I  feel  quite  sure  that  you  will 
always  gain  your  truest  happiness  in  your  work.  Al- 
though I  know  how  you  love  children  (and  I  don't), 


312  "SMILES" 

I  cannot  think  of  you  in  the  r61e  of  a  married  man,  so 
I  do  not,  deep  in  my  heart,  believe  that  this  is  going 
to  hurt  you  very  much  —  certainly  I  hope  not. 
Indeed,  I  have  a  somewhat  unpleasant  suspicion  that 
some  day  you  are  going  to  bless  me  for  having  given 
you  back  your  freedom." 

Donald  read  the  letter  through,  without  allowing 
his  expression  to  change.  Then  he  started  to  re- 
read it,  stopped,  and  suddenly  crumpled  it  up  in 
his  big  fist.  A  low  curse  escaped  his  lips.  It  was 
heard  by  a  passing  nurse,  who  hurried  to  him  with 
the  question,  "Did  you  call,  doctor?  Are  you  in 
pain?" 

"No.  Let  me  alone,"  was  his  harsh  answer,  and 
the  patient  girl  moved  away,  with  a  little  shake  of 
her  head.  The  great  physician  had  not  been  his 
cheerful,  kindly  self  for  some  time.  Perhaps  she 
surmised,  too,  that  the  mail  which  she  had  laid  in  his 
lap  had  not  been  all  that  he  had  anticipated. 

With  scarcely  a  move,  he  sat,  staring  in  front  of 
him,  until  the  evening  shadows  had  turned  the  land- 
scape to  a  dull  monotone.  Then  he  slowly  arose,  and, 
with  his  mind  so  completely  bent  upon  one  subject 
that  his  body  was  a  thing  apart  and  its  weakness 
forgotten,  stepped  out  into  the  darkening  city. 

Time  had  ceased  to  exist  for  him,  as  he  walked  the 
almost  deserted  streets  of  Toul  like  a  flesh-and-blood 
automaton.  But  the  physical  exercise  brought  a 
quota  of  mental  relief  at  last,  and  the  cool  night  air 
soothed  his  first  burning  pain  and  anger  with  its  un- 


AN  INTERLUDE  313 

conscious  balm.  At  length  he  was  able  to  face  the 
truth  frankly,  and  then  he  suddenly  knew  that  all 
the  time  it  was  not  his  heart,  so  much  as  his  pride, 
which  had  been  hurt. 

An  hour  earlier  he  would  not  have  admitted  a 
single  doubt  of  his  real  love  for  Marion  Treville. 
Now  he  could  not  but  admit  that  the  initial  stab  of 
bitterness  was  being  healed  by  a  real,  though  in- 
explicable, sense  of  relief.  He  could  even  say  that 
she  had  been  right.  His  affection  for  her  had,  in- 
deed, been  merely  the  outgrowth  of  lifelong  intimacy. 
It  was  never  the  mating  call  of  heart  to  heart ;  he  had 
never  felt  for  her  the  overwhelming  passion  of  a 
lover  for  the  woman  in  whom,  for  him,  all  earthly 
things  are  bound  up. 

His  walk  became  slower;  he  stopped.  The  deep 
blue-black  sky  had,  of  a  sudden,  become  the  back- 
ground for  a  softly  glowing  mind  picture,  and  there 
seemed  to  appear  before  him  the  glorious  misty  eyes, 
and  bewitchingly  curved  lips  of  ...  Smiles. 

Her  memory  swept  over  him  like  a  vision,  and, 
even  while  he  felt  like  a  traitor  to  self,  came  the 
wonderful  realization  that  in  his  home  city,  toward 
which  his  thoughts  had  so  lately  been  bent,  still 
lived  the  girl  whom  he  had  loved  —  and  had  held 
apart  within  a  locked  and  closely  guarded  chamber 
of  his  heart  —  for  years.  It  was  as  though  scales, 
placed  before  them  by  his  own  will,  had  dropped 
from  his  eyes.  He  almost  cried  aloud  his  self -ad- 
mission that  he  had  loved  her  all  the  years  from  the 


314  "SMILES" 


first  moment  when  he  saw  her,  a  barefoot  mountain 
girl,  in  Big  Jerry's  rude  cabin. 

And  he  was  free  !  Free  to  be  honest  with  his  own 
soul,  free  to  tell  his  Rose  of  his  love,  and  throw  aside 
the  masquerading  cloak  of  adopted  brotherhood. 
How  strange  it  was !  The  woman  whom  he  had 
thought  to  marry  was  gone  from  his  life  like  a  leaf 
torn  from  the  binding,  and  the  one  whom  he  had 
pretended  to  regard  as  a  sister  would  become  his 
mate.  That  such  would  be  the  case  he  did  not  doubt 
now,  even  for  an  instant.  That  she  had  always 
loved  him,  he  was  certain,  and,  with  the  warmth  of 
his  wooing,  he  would  fan  that  steady  glow  of  childish 
affection  into  the  flame  of  womanly  love  which  should 
weld  their  hearts  together  forever. 


The  days  which  followed  before  he  was  strong 
enough  to  journey  to  Bordeaux,  there  to  embark  for 
America,  seemed  to  drag  by  like  eternity  ;  but  Donald 
was  Westbound  at  last.  He  was  going  home,  home 
to  a  new  life,  made  perfect  by  a  great  love.  The 
deadly  submarines  of  the  world's  outlaw,  lurking 
under  the  sea  like  loathsome  phantasies  of  an  evil 
mind,  held  no  terrors  for  him,  nor  could  the  dis- 
comforts caused  by  the  tightly  closed  hatches  and 
enshrouding  burlap,  which  made  the  ship  a  pent-up 
steambox,  until  the  danger  zone  was  passed,  depress 
his  spirits. 

The  steamer  crept  as  had  the  days  on  shore;  but 


AN  INTERLUDE  315 

there  came  an  afternoon  when  she  made  port  at  last, 
and,  spurred  by  a  consuming  eagerness,  he  hastened 
to  his  apartment. 

He  had  cabled  the  news  of  his  departure,  and  in 
the  mail  box  were  many  letters  awaiting  him. 
Feverishly,  he  looked  them  over  for  one  in  her  dear 
handwriting.  To  his  unreasonable  disappointment 
there  was  none,  but  there  were  several  which  required 
immediate  reading  —  among  them  one  from  his 
sister  Ethel,  and  one  from  his  old  friend,  Philip 
Bentley. 

The  first  contained  disquieting  news.  His  little 
niece,  Muriel,  had  been  very  ill  with  typhoid  fever 
and,  although  Dr.  Bentley  had  pulled  her  through 
the  sickness  successfully,  she  was  still  far  from  well, 
and  apparently  not  gaining  at  all. 

He  opened  the  other,  expecting  it  to  concern  the 
case.  But  the  note  did  not  mention  it.  It  was 
only  a  few  lines  and  read : 

"Dear  old  Don: 

I  hear  that  you  are  'homeward  bound.'  Bully! 
As  soon  as  you  reach  Boston,  and  can  spare  me  a  moment, 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  an  important  matter. 

Call  me  by  telephone,  like  a  good  fellow,  and  I'll  run 
over  to  your  apartment  at  once  and  tell  you  what  is  on 

my  mind. 

Yours, 

P.  B." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

DONALD'S  HOMECOMING 

"By  the  Lord  Harry,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you 
back  again,  safe  and  sound,  you  good-for-nothing 
old  reprobate." 

True  to  his  written  statement,  Philip  had  come  to 
Donald's  apartment  as  fast  as  a  taxicab  could  bring 
him,  after  he  had  heard  his  old  friend's  voice  over 
the  wire.  Now  the  two  men  gripped  hands,  hard, 
and  then  —  for  just  a  moment  —  flung  their  arms 
around  each  other's  shoulders  in  a  rare  outward 
display  of  their  deep  mutual  affection. 

Then  Philip  held  his  senior  away  at  arms'  length 
and  said,  with  masculine  candor  but  with  a  look 
of  sympathy  in  his  eyes,  "  Don,  you  poor  devil,  you've 
been  killing  yourself  over  there.  Don't  tell  me. 
I've  a  mind  to  appoint  myself  your  physician  and 
order  you  to  bed  for  a  month." 

"Good  Lord,  do  I  look  as  bad  as  that?"  laughed 
the  other.  "If  I  do,  looks  are  deceitful,  for  I  feel 
fit  as  a  fiddle.  I  need  only  one  thing  to  make  a 
complete  new  man  of  me." 

"And  that  is  .  .  .?" 

"A  secret,  at  present." 

The  two  seated  themselves  opposite  each  other, 
and  Philip  continued,  "I've  managed  to  keep  myself 

316 


DONALD'S  HOMECOMING       317 

pretty  well  posted  on  the  work  that  you've  been  doing, 
without  knowing  any  of  the  details  of  your  life  — 
you're  a  rotten  correspondent.  Come,  did  you  have 
any  'hairbreadth'  'scapes  or  moving  accidents  by 
field  and  flood?" 

"Nary  one.  My  life  has  been  one  dead,  monot- 
onous waste." 

"Like  .  .  .  the  deuce  it  has.  Come,  I've  got 
just  ten  minutes  to  stay ;  tell  me  the  whole  detailed 
history  of  your  two  years  and  a  half.  Knowing 
your  natural  verbosity,  I  should  say  that  it  would 
take  you  just  about  half  that  tune,  which  will  leave 
me  the  balance  for  my  own  few  remarks." 

"  Five  minutes  ?  I  could  tell  you  the  whole  history 
of  my  life  in  that  time.  But,  before  I  start,  I  want 
to  ask  you  about  my  little  niece,  Muriel?  I've 
just  been  reading  a  letter  from  Ethel,  which  seems 
to  indicate  that  they  are  rather  worried  about  her; 
but,  when  I  called  her  by  long  distance,  she  either 
couldn't,  or  wouldn't  tell  me  anything  definite." 

"  I  don't  think  that  there  is  any  real  occasion  for 
being  disturbed,"  answered  Philip,  quietly.  "Al- 
though I'll  confess  frankly  that  things  haven't  been 
going  just  right,  and  I'm  not  sorry  to  have  you  back 
and  in  charge  of  the  case.  Muriel  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  typhus  bug  —  the  Lord  knows  how  —  and, 
although  I  succeeded  in  getting  the  best  of  the  fever 
fairly  quickly,  thanks  to  the  able  assistance  of  that 
nurse  whom  you  swear  by  ..." 

"Miss  Merriman?" 


318  "SMILES" 

"Yes,  she's  a  wonder,  isn't  she?  Well,  as  I  said, 
we  took  care  of  the  fever,  all  right ;  but  the  cerebral 
affection  has  been  more  persistent,  and  she  hasn't 
convalesced  as  you  would  expect  in  a  twelve-year- 
old  child.  She  seems  to  be  laboring  under  a  sort 
of  nervous  depression,  not  so  much  physical  as  mental 
...  in  fact,  a  psychos.  It's  common  enough  in  older 
people,  of  course ;  but  hanged  if  I  ever  saw  anything 
just  like  it  in  a  perfectly  normal,  and  naturally  happy 
child." 

"H-m-m-m.     What  are  the  symptoms  ?" 

"Psychological,  all  of  them.  She  mopes;  seems  to 
take  no  healthy  interest  in  anything,  and,  as  a  result, 
has  no  appetite;  bursts  out  crying  over  the  most 
trivial  things  —  such  as  the  chance  of  you're  being 
blown  up  by  a  submarine  on  the  way  home  —  and 
frequently  for  no  cause  at  all.  Of  course  I  packed 
the  family  off  to  the  shore,  as  soon  as  she  was  able 
to  be  moved,  in  the  belief  that  the  change  of  scene 
and  the  sea  air  would  effect  a  cure,  but  it  hasn't. 
I  can't  find  a  thing  wrong  with  her,  physically,  nor 
could  Morse.  I  took  him  down  on  my  own  hook, 
in  consultation,  one  day.  It's  a  rather  unusual  case 
of  purely  psychological  depression,  and  in  my  opinion 
all  she  needs  is  .  .  . " 

"A  generous  dose  of  Smiles,"  interrupted  Donald. 

"By  thunder,  you've  struck  it,"  cried  Philip, 
as  he  gave  the  arm  of  his  chair  a  resounding  thump. 
"What  an  ass  I've  been  not  to  have  thought  of  that 
before,  particularly  as  she  has  been  so  constantly 


DONALD'S  HOMECOMING       319 

in  my  thoughts.     It's  another  case  of  a  thing  being 
too  close  to  one  for  him  to  see  it." 

Donald  stiffened  suddenly.  He  held  the  match, 
with  which  he  was  about  to  light  a  cigar,  poised  in 
mid-air  until  the  flame  reached  his  fingers,  and  then 
blew  it  out,  unused. 

"In  fact,  it  was  about  her,  Don,  that  I  was  so 
anxious  to  see  you,"  the  other  went  on.  His  own 
nervousness  made  him  unconscious  of  the  effect 
which  his  words  had  produced  on  Donald.  "Of 
course,  she's  practically  of  legal  age  now;  but  I 
know  that  she  still  regards  you  as  her  guardian  and 
that  in  a  sense  you  stand  in  loco  parentis  toward 
her.  Certainly  she  regards  your  word  as  law.  So 
I  thought  that,  as  she  is  practically  alone  in  the  world, 
it  would  be  the  only  right  and  honorable  thing  to 
...  to  speak  to  you,  first." 

"To  speak  to  me  ...  first?"  echoed  Donald,  a 
trifle  unsteadily,  as  he  struck  another  match  and 
watched  its  flame,  with  unseeing  eyes,  until  it,  too, 
burned  his  fingers. 

"Yes.  Great  Scott,  can't  you  guess  what  I'm 
driving  at?  The  plain  fact  is  ...  is  that  I  love 
her,  Don.  I  ...  I  want  to  marry  her." 

The  words  smote  the  older  man's  senses  like  a  bolt 
from  a  clear  sky,  and  they  reeled,  although  he  man- 
aged, somehow,  to  keep  outwardly  calm. 

"You  .  .  .  you  haven't  told  her  ...  yet  ... 
that  you  love  her?"  he  managed  to  say,  after  a 
moment.  • 


320  "SMILES" 

"No.  At  least,  not  directly;  but  I  guess  that 
she  knows  it.  I  wanted,  first,  to  be  sure  that  you 
would  approve  .  .  .  perhaps  even  sponsor  my  suit, 
for,  although  I  mean,  of  course,  to  stand  or  fall  on 
the  strength  of  my  own  case,  I  know  that  she  worships 
you,  as  a  brother,  and  might  be  influenced  by  your 
attitude.  You  understand,  don't  you,  old  man?" 

Donald  nodded,  then  asked  slowly,  "Does  .  .  . 
does  Smiles  love  you,  Phil?" 

"Yes,  I  think  that  I  can  honestly  say  that  I  believe 
she  does.  Of  course  no  word  of  love  has  ever  passed 
between  us,  but  .  .  .  well,  you  know  how  it  is." 

With  a  mighty  effort  of  his  will,  Donald  conquered 
the  trembling  that  had  seized  upon  his  body,  and  — • 
on  his  third  attempt  —  calmly  lit  the  cigar.  But 
his  thoughts  were  running  like  a  tumultuous  mill- 
race.  "Blind,  egotistical,  self-confident  fool,"  they 
shouted.  "That  something  like  this  should  have 
happened  is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world, 
and  it  has  been  farthest  from  your  mind." 

He  remained  silent  so  long  that  Philip  was  forced 
to  laugh,  a  bit  uneasily. 

"I  know  well  enough  that  I'm  not  half  worthy 
of  her  —  no  man  could  be  —  but  I  hope  that  I'm 
not  altogether  ineligible,  and  I'm  sure  that  I  love 
her  more  than  any  one  else  could."  At  his  words 
Donald  winced.  "I'll  do  my  best  to  make  her  life 
a  happy  one,  if  she'll  have  me  —  you  know  that,  old 
fellow.  Well,"  he  laughed  again,  "say  something, 
can't  you?  I  should  almost  get  the  idea  that  you 


DONALD'S  HOMECOMING      321 

were  jealous,  if  I  didn't  also  know  that  that  is  absurd. 
Your  engagement  to  Marion  Treville  ...  I  sup- 
pose that  you  don't  want  to  talk  about  that,  but  you 
know  how  deeply  I  feel  for  you." 

Donald  shook  himself  together,  mentally,  and 
made  an  effort  to  respond  with  convincing  heartiness, 
although  he  found  that  his  words  sounded  unnaturally, 
even  to  his  own  ears. 

"Of  course,  you  have  my  consent,  if  it's  worth 
anything.  If  our  little  Rose  does  love  you,  I  am  sure 
that  you  can  make  her  happy  —  you're  a  splendid 
chap,  Phil,  and  I  —  and  I  appreciate  what  you  have 
done  for  her  while  I  was  away.  She  wrote  me  all 
about  it." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  the  other  started 
from  his  chair,  and  wrung  it  heartily. 

"Thanks,  old  man.  You  give  me  an  added  quota 
of  courage,  and  I  wish  that  I  might  go  to  her  this 
minute;  but  I've  been  called  out  of  town  on  an 
important  case.  I  really  shouldn't  have  taken  the 
time  even  to  stop  here,  but  I  simply  had  to  see  you 
to-night.  Love  is  an  awful  thing,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  dully.  "Love  is  always 
impatient  ...  I  know  that  myself.  Perhaps  I 
.  .  .  that  is,  if  I  can  get  her  ...  Rose,  I  think  that 
I  will  take  her  down  to  Ethel's  with  me,  to-night,  and 
you  can  .  .  .  can  see  her  there.  Where  is  she 
staying  now?" 

"With  Miss  Merriman's  family,  if  she  hasn't  been 
called  out  on  a  case  since  morning.  She's  been  doing 


district  nursing,  principally;  but  she's  already  had 
two  private  cases,  you  know." 

Donald  did  not,  and  the  realization  of  how  far  he 
had  drifted  away  from  his  old,  intimate  association 
with  Smiles'  affairs,  brought  his  heart  an  added  stab 
of  pain. 

"The  number  is  Back  Bay,  4315."  He  glanced 
at  his  watch  and  then  exclaimed,  "Heavens,  I've 
got  to  catch  a  train  at  the  Trinity  Place  station  in 
five  minutes.  Be  ready  to  furnish  bail  for  my 
chauffeur  as  soon  as  he  is  arrested  for  over-speeding. 
'Night.  I'll  see  you  at  Manchester  in  a  few  days 
.  .  .  that  is  if  ..." 

His  words  trailed  off  down  the  corridor,  the  front 
door  closed  and  Donald  was  alone.  No,  not  alone. 
Philip  had  gone,  but  the  room  was  peopled  with  a 
multitude  of  ghosts  and  haunting  spectres  which 
he  had  left  behind.  The  doctor  had  only  to  close 
his  eyes  in  order  to  see  them,  gibbering  and  dancing 
on  his  hopes,  which  had  been  laid  low  by  his  friend's 
eager  disclosure.  Another  loved  her,  another  wanted 
to  marry  her,  and  that  other  could  truthfully  say 
that  he  believed  she  cared  for  him.  No  spoken  words 
of  love  may  have  passed  between  them,  but  Donald 
knew  well  how  unessential  these  were  when  heart 
called  to  heart. 

This  was  his  homecoming ! 

It  were  as  though  the  eyes  of  his  soul  had  been 
permitted,  for  a  brief  time,  to  behold  a  dazzling 
celestial  light,  which  had  suddenly  failed,  leaving 


DONALD'S  HOMECOMING       323 

the  darkness  blacker  than  before.  The  words  which 
he  had  planned  to  utter  had  turned  to  bitter  ashes 
in  his  mouth.  He  had  to  face  the  truth  squarely. 
Rose  was  not,  had  never  been,  for  him.  It  had  been 
mere  madness  for  him  even  to  dream  of  such  a  thing. 
Had  she  not  accepted  him  as  a  brother,  and  given 
him  the  frank  affection  of  such  relationship,  which 
precludes  love  of  the  other  sort? 

His  heart  hurt  and  he  felt  old  and  weary  again. 
Somewhere,  hidden  in  a  cabinet,  was  a  bottle  of 
whiskey,  he  remembered,  and  he  sought  it  out  and 
poured  himself  a  generous  glassful.  But,  when  he 
raised  it  to  his  lips,  the  vision  face  of  Smiles,  as  she 
had  looked  that  first  night  on  the  mountain,  when 
she  told  Big  Jerry  and  Judd  that  "nary  a  drap  o' 
thet  devil's  brew  would  ever  be  in  house  of  hers," 
appeared  before  him,  and,  with  a  groan,  he  set  it 
down,  untasted. 

Returning  to  his  living-room,  he  sat  a  long  time 
in  mental  readjustment,  which  was  brought  about 
with  many  a  wrench  at  his  heart;  and  when,  at 
last,  his  old  iron  will  —  which  had  been  weakened  a 
little  by  illness  and  further  softened  by  love  —  had 
once  again  been  tempered  in  the  crucible  of  anguish, 
the  lines  on  his  prematurely  seamed  face  were  deeper, 
and  in  his  dark  gray  eyes  was  a  new  expression  of  pain. 

In  compliance  with  his  telephoned  request,  Rose 
had  packed  her  suit  case,  and  was  all  ready  to  accom- 
pany him  when  he  arrived  at  the  Merrimans'  apart- 


324  "SMILES" 

ment  in  a  taxicab,  to  take  her  with  him  to  the  North 
Station  to  catch  the  nine  o'clock  train.  She  was 
irrepressibly  the  child,  for  the  time  being,  and  in  her 
cheeks  bloomed  roses  so  colorful  that  Gertrude 
Merriman  accused  her  of  painting,  while  knowing 
well  enough  that  joy  needs  no  artistry. 

"I'm  almost  too  happy,"  she  cried  after  hearing 
his  voice  over  the  wire,  and  proceeded  to  dance  around 
the  room  to  the  impromptu  chant,  "Donald,  dear,  is 
here,  is  here.  Donald,  dear,  is  here." 

"Are  you  going  to  kiss  him?"  laughed  her  friend. 
But  Rose  was  not  to  be  teased,  and  answered,  "Kiss 
him?  I'll  smother  him  with  kisses.  Isn't  he  my 
brother,  and  isn't  he  home  again  after  being  away 
two  and  a  half  years  ?  " 

When  the  apartment  bell  rang,  it  was  Rose  who 
ran  to  answer  it,  and  whose  sweet  young  voice,  say- 
ing, "Oh,  come  up  quick,"  Donald  heard  thrilling 
over  the  wire.  His  heart  leaped,  but  his  will  steadied 
its  increased  pulsations.  It  leaped  again  when  he 
reached  the  third  floor,  and  the  girl  of  his  dreams 
threw  herself  upon  him  with  laughter  which  was 
suspiciously  like  weeping,  and  with  the  smother  of 
kisses,  which  she  could  not  restrain  nor  he  prevent, 
although  each  burned  and  seared  his  very  soul. 

She  backed  into  the  room  and  pulled  him  after 
her  by  the  lapels  of  his  coat;  but,  as  the  brighter 
light  struck  upon  his  face,  she  stopped  with  widen- 
ing eyes,  through  which  he  could  read  the  troubled 
question  in  her  mind. 


DONALD'S  HOMECOMING       325 

"  Oh,  my  poor  big  brother.  I  didn't  realize  .  .  . 
I  mean,  how  you  must  have  suffered.  Poor  dear, 
you  don't  have  to  tell  me  how  ill  you  have  been,  so 
far  away  from  all  of  us  who  love  you." 

Her  pitying  words  drove  the  last  nail  in  his  cruci- 
fied hopes.  Not  only  were  they,  all  too  obviously, 
merely  those  of  a  child  who  loved  him  with  a  sister's 
love,  but  they  told  him  how  changed,  wan  and  aged 
he  was ;  one  who  was,  in  fact,  no  longer  fitted  to 
mate  with  radiant  youth. 

"'Old,  ain't  I,  and  ugly?'"  He  imitated  Dick 
Deadeye  with  a  laughing  voice,  but  the  laugh  was  not 
true. 

"  Old  and  ugly  ?  "  she  repeated,  in  horror.  ''Donald, 
how  can  you?  You're  tired  out,  that  is  all;  and 
as  for  this  —  "  she  lightly  touched  the  sheen  of  silvery- 
gray  at  his  temples,  where  the  alchemy  of  Tune  and 
stress  had  made  its  mark — "it  makes  you  look  so 
...  so  distinguished  that  I  am  ashamed  of  my 
frivolously  familiar  manner  of  greeting  you.  But  I 
just  couldn't  help  it,  and  I  promise  not  to  embarrass 
you  again.  Yes,  you  were  embarrassed.  I  could 
read  it  in  your  face." 

There  was  but  a  moment  for  conversation  with 
the  others,  and  they  were  whirled  off  to  catch  the 
train  for  the  North  Shore  resort. 

When  they  were  seated,  face  to  face,  in  the  Pull- 
man chair  car,  there  came  a  moment  of  silence, 
during  which  each  studied  the  other  covertly.  Donald 
decided  that,  physically,  the  girl  had  not  greatly 


326  "SMILES" 

changed  from  the  picture  of  her  which  he  had  borne 
away  in  his  heart.  The  passing  years  had  merely 
deepened  the  charm  of  the  soft,  waving  hair,  whose 
rich  and  glinting  chestnut  strands  swept  low  on  her 
broad  forehead  and  nestled  against  the  nape  of  her 
neck;  the  slender  patrician  nose  and  wonderfully 
shadowed  eyes;  the  smooth  contour  of  cheek  and 
rounded  chin;  and  the  tender  glory  which  still 
trembled,  as  in  the  old  days,  on  her  sensitive  lips. 
But,  in  her  poise  and  speech,  after  the  first  rush 
of  impetuous  childlike  eagerness  had  spent  itself, 
he  discovered  a  new  maturity,  and  he  realized  that, 
where  he  had  left  a  child,  he  found  a  woman,  whose 
heart  was  no  longer  worn  upon  her  sleeve.  True, 
her  gratitude  and  affection  for  him  were  unaltered. 
They  showed  in  every  word  and  look,  and  once  the 
thought  came  to  him  that  he  might  yet  win  the  castle 
of  Desire,  if  he  should  only  determine  to  enter  the 
lists  against  Philip.  The  primal  man  in  him  cried 
out  against,  and  might  have  overcome,  his  better 
nature,  which  whispered  that  this  would  be  treachery 
to  a  friend  who  had  played  fair,  and  was  worthy, 
if  there  had  not  always  been  before  his  mind  the 
consideration  that  the  fight  would  be  hopeless. 
Rose  was  not  for  him ;  she  loved  another. 

And  the  girl?  She  cheered  him  with  her  smile, 
and  loved  him  for  the  dangers  he  had  passed  as  he, 
in  the  hope  of  in  that  subject  finding  a  vent  for  his 
emotions,  told  her  of  the  work  he  had  been  doing. 
But  in  her  heart  she  was  deeply  disturbed.  The 


DONALD'S  HOMECOMING       327 

tired,  drawn  look  on  his  strong  face  would  pass  away, 
she  felt;  but  the  sight  of  the  expression  of  pain  in 
his  eyes  gave  her  thoughts  pause.  Had  Marion 
Treville's  faithlessness  struck  so  deep?  At  the 
memory  of  her  interview  with  the  woman,  Smiles' 
own  eyes  changed,  and  lost  then1  quiet  tenderness. 


Morning  had  come,  and  the  sunlight  danced  like 
a  myriad  host  of  tiny  sprites,  clad  in  cloth  of  gold 
over  the  broad  blue  bosom  of  the  Atlantic  and  into 
the  windows  of  little  Muriel's  cheerful  bedroom. 
The  door  opened  softly,  and  Rose,  in  trim  uniform 
and  cap,  with  its  three  black  bands,  slipped  into  the 
room,  silently  motioning  the  man  in  the  hall  outside 
to  keep  back  out  of  sight.  The  child,  thin  and  pale 
on  her  snowy  bed,  turned  her  head  listlessly  and 
looked  at  the  intruder. 

Suddenly  the  suggestion  of  a  smile  touched  her 
colorless  lips,  and  lighted  her  unnaturally  heavy  eyes. 
She  sat  up  with  a  glad  cry  of  surprise  and  welcome, 
"Why,  it's  my  own  Smiles!  Wherever  did  you 
come  from;  are  you  going  to  make  us  a  visit?  Oh, 
I'm  so  glad." 

"Yes,  darling.  I  got  so  tired  and  grumpy  up 
in  the  hot  city  that  I  just  had  to  come  down  here  to 
be  cheered  up.  Will  you  help  do  it?" 

"'Course  I  will.  Why,  just  seeing  you  makes  me 
want  to  cheer."  She  quickly  swung  her  slender 
legs  over  the  bedside.  "Oh,  now  if  dear  Uncle  Don 


328  "SMILES" 

were  only  safe  home  again  it  would  be  perfect.  I've 
worried  and  worried  about  his  getting  hit  by  a  bomb 
or  being  blown  up  by  a  submarine.  I  wish  ..." 

"And,  presto!  your  wish  is  granted,"  laughed 
Donald,  as  he  ran  into  the  room  and  caught  his  small 
niece  up  in  an  old-time  bear  hug. 

"Oh,  oh,  oh.  It's  better  than  a  fairy  tale.  I'm  so 
happy  I  could  die,  but  instead  I'm  going  to  get  well 
right  off.  I'm  well  now;  where  are  my  clothes?" 

The  little  bare  feet  sought  for  bedroom  slippers, 
and  the  light  curls  bobbed  energetically  as  she  enun- 
ciated, "Now  that  I've  got  you  two  I  mean  to  keep 
you  forever  and  ever.  If  you,  Uncle  Don,  would 
only  mar  ..." 

The  man  made  haste  to  clap  his  hand  over  the 
offending  mouth;  but  he  was  too  late.  Rose  had 
heard,  and,  with  glowing  cheeks,  replied  quickly, 
"But  you  forget  that  Uncle  Don  adopted  me  as  a 
little  sister,  long  ago." 

She  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm  and  pressed 
it  close  to  her  for  a  moment,  before  laughing  gayly, 
"Run  along,  man.  Milady  is  about  to  dress  and 
this  is  no  place  for  you." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

EARLY  evening  it  was,  several  days  later,  evening 
of  a  sultry,  stifling  day,  which  had  escaped  the 
bounds  of  longitude  and  invaded  even  the  North 
Shore.  The  open  ocean,  itself,  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten its  habitual  unrest  and  yielded  to  the  general 
languor.  From  the  Thayers'  summer  home  —  a 
glorified  bungalow,  broad  of  veranda  and  shingled 
silvery -olive,  atop  a  long,  terraced  bank  —  it  had 
the  appearance  of  a  limitless  mirror,  reflecting  the 
unblemished  blue  infinity  of  the  sky.  Only  the 
never-ceasing  series  of  vague  white  lines  which  ever 
crept  up  the  shelving  beach,  to  vanish  like  half- 
formed  dreams,  showed  that,  although  the  mighty 
deep  slept,  its  bosom  rose  and  fell  as  it  breathed. 

The  sky  was  a  hazy  horizon  blue,  unblemished  save 
for  a  few  vaporous  clouds  far  in  the  west;  the  sun, 
well  toward  the  end  of  its  journey,  was  hazy,  too, 
a  thing  of  mystery ;  in  the  far  eastern  distance  the 
broad  Atlantic  softened  to  a  hazy  violet-gray  which, 
in  turn,  blended,  almost  without  a  line  of  demarca- 
tion, into  the  still  more  distant  heavens. 

Far  out,  above  the  waters,  a  solitary  gull  circled 
with  slow,  sweeping  curves,  and  now  and  again 

329 


330  "SMILES" 


planed  to  the  surface  of  the  sea  and  struck  from  it 
a  faint  white  spark. 

On  the  screened-in  veranda,  the  members  of  the 
family,  which  now  included  Rose,  sat  or  reclined, 
in  attitudes  of  indolence,  the  men  in  negligee  shirts 
and  white  flannels,  the  women  in  light  dresses.  Rose 
-  who  had,  the  day  before,  officially  declared  herself 
"off"  the  case;  but  had  stayed  on,  a  guest,  at  the 
general  solicitation  —  wore  a  white  dimity  faintly 
sprinkled  with  her  favorite  rosebuds. 

Her  ex-patient  sat  on  a  little  stool  close  by  her 
side,  a  book  of  fairy  stories  resting  on  her  elevated 
bare  knees.  The  companionship  of  her  beloved 
Smiles  had  already  brought  the  warm  color  of  health 
back  to  her  cheeks  and  banished  the  listless  look  from 
her  eyes.  Her  mother  and  Mr/ MacDonald,  Senior, 
were  reading.  Rose,  chin  resting  on  her  cupped 
palm,  was  gazing  seaward  with  a  dreamy,  far-away 
expression  in  her  eyes,  as  blue  as  the  sea  itself.  Donald 
sat  back  of  her,  and  scarcely  turned  his  gaze  from  the 
even  contour  of  her  cheek  and  neck  and  the  shimmering 
glory  of  her  hair,  as  he  pulled  leisurely  at  his  cigar. 

Only  little  Don  showed  signs  of  activity ;  for,  with 
the  boundless  energy  of  four-and-a-half  years,  he 
was  skidding  and  rolling  industriously  from  one  end 
of  the  porch  to  the  other  on  a  kiddie-car  —  a  relic 
of  the  year  before,  and  now  much  too  small  for  him. 
With  more  or  less  dexterity  he  was  weaving  his  way 
m  and  out  among  the  various  obstacles,  animate 
and  otherwise. 


THE   VALLEY  OF  INDECISION    331 

After  looking  for  many  silent  minutes  at  the  girl 
he  loved,  Donald  said,  tritely,  "A  penny  for  your 
thoughts,  Smiles." 

"Sir,  you  value  them  too  high.  I  was  thinking 
about  you,"  she  laughed. 

"A  likely  story!  I  know  well  enough  that  your 
mind  was  far  away  from  the  present  spot  —  the  far- 
off  expression  on  your  face  is  indication  enough 
of  that.  Furthermore,  I'll  wager  that  I  can  gues? 
pretty  nearly  where  they  were." 

It  was  a  random  shot,  but  he  was  disquieted  tc 
observe  that  it  brought  a  faint  blush  in  her  cheeks. 
The  added  color,  soft  and  lovely  in  itself,  was  darkly 
reflected  on  his  heart. 

Jumping  up,  Smiles  cried,  with  a  mock  pout, 
"I  shan't  stay  here  to  be  made  the  subject  of  a  demon- 
stration of  clairvoyancy.  My  thoughts  are  my  own, 
and  I  mean  to  keep  them  so,  sir." 

As  she  ran  into  the  house  Donald's  eyes  followed 
her,  moodily.  And  if  he  had,  indeed,  possessed  the 
power  of  divination  which  he  had  laid  pretence  to, 
the  expression  in  them,  and  the  shadow  on  his  spirit, 
would  have  been  justified. 

Rose  ran  lightly  upstairs,  and,  as  she  approached 
her  room,  drew  from  within  her  waist  a  letter.  There 
was  something  both  mysterious  and  childlike  in  the 
manner  that  she  next  opened  one  of  the  drawers  of 
her  dressing  table  and,  taking  out  a  box  which  held 
almost  all  of  her  modest  treasures,  started  to  place 
the  letter  with  them. 


332  "SMILES" 

Instead,  however,  she  paused  to  lift  out  a  neat 
little  package  containing  a  score  or  more  of  other 
epistles,  tied  together  with  a  white  ribbon.  For  a 
moment  she  hesitated,  as  though  she  were  both 
mentally  and  physically  weighing  the  objects  held 
in  either  hand.  A  shadow  of  strange  uncertainty 
came  into  her  eyes,  the  outward  expression  of  an 
inward  uncertainty  foreign  to  her  nature.  Slowly, 
she  turned  from  her  reflection  in  the  mirror  and 
dropped  down  on  the  edge  of  the  daintily  counter- 
paned  bed.  With  hesitating  fingers  she  untied  the 
ribbon  from  the  package  and  began  to  glance  through 
the  unbound  letters,  pausing  at  intervals  to  read 
stray  paragraphs  from  them.  Each  one  began  and 
ended  almost  the  same  —  "Dear  little  Smiles"  and 
"Affectionately  your  friend,  Donald." 

There  was  the  one  which  contained  the  allegory  of 
the  steep  path  —  which  now  lay  behind  her ;  the 
one  in  which  he  told  her  of  little  Donald's  advent  into 
the  world  and  of  his  own  betrothal  to  Marion  Treville, 
and  as  she  read  that  sentence  which  held  so  much  of 
import  in  the  lives  of  both  of  them,  she  sighed,  "Poor 
Don.  He  hasn't  mentioned  her ;  but  her  faithless- 
ness must  have  struck  deep,  for  he  is,  oh,  so  changed 
and  more  reserved."  There  were  other  letters  filled 
with  the  spirit  of  camaraderie,  and  then  the  later  ones, 
strong,  simple,  with  their  stories  of  others'  sacrifice 
in  the  great  cause  of  humanity. 

When  the  last  one  was  read  and  laid  upon  the 
others,  she  sat  with  them  in  her  lap  for  a  moment, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  INDECISION    333 

musing.  The  suspicion  of  tears  shone  in  her  eyes 
as  she  finally  shook  her  head,  and,  evening  them 
carefully,  retied  them. 

"No,"  she  whispered,  half  aloud,  "I  mustn't 
be  foolish.  He's  just  my  brother,  that  is  the  way 
he  cares  for  me.  It  has  always  been  like  that.  And 
I  ...  I  mustn't  be  foolish." 

Almost  angrily  she  brushed  away  the  single  tear 
which  had  started  its  uncertain  course  down  her 
cheek. 

With  a  gesture  of  resolution,  she  stood  up  and 
placed  the  package  in  its  box.  The  other  letter 
was  about  to  follow;  but,  as  she  started  to  lay  it 
down,  she  changed  her  mind,  and,  with  the  flush  again 
mounting  her  cheeks,  took  it  from  the  envelope, 
which  bore  a  special  delivery  stamp,  postmarked  in 
Boston  that  very  morning. 

Opening  it,  she  read : 

"My  dearest  Smiles: 

Will  you  be  the  bearer  of  a  message  from  me  to  your 
kind  hostess?  As  you  know,  she  has  invited  me  down  to 
Manchester-by-the-Sea  for  the  week-end,  as  a  surprise 
for  Donald,  and  I  have  heretofore  been  unable  to  give  a 
definite  answer.  Now  I  have  banished  everything  else 
from  my  mind  and  shall  arrive  about  seven-thirty. 

You  wonder,  perhaps,  why  I  haven't  written  this 
direct  to  her?  In  answering  my  own  question  I  have  a 
confession  —  yes,  two  confessions  to  make.  A  poor  ex- 
cuse is  better  than  none,  and  I  have  sent  the  message 
to  Ethel,  through  you,  merely  as  an  excuse  for  writing 
you. 


334  "SMILES" 

To  my  own  surprise  I  have  discovered  that  I  have 
suddenly  become  a  moral  coward,  and  am  obliged  to 
descend  to  subterfuges  in  order  to  bolster  up  my  courage. 
This  isn't  a  usual  thing  with  me,  I  think,  but  neither  is 
the  occasion.  I've  been  wanting  and  planning  to  tell 
you  something,  face  to  face,  for  a  long  time ;  but  at  the 
crucial  moment  my  courage  has  failed  each  time.  I  could 
not  nerve  myself  to  bear  the  possibility  of  the  wrong 
answer. 

Now  I  cannot  put  it  off  any  longer  and  I  am  forced  to 
tell  you  that  '  something '  in  this  manner.  It  is  a  simple 
message,  dear,  but  it  has  meant  more  than  any  other  to 
the  world  through  all  ages,  and  it  means  more  to  me  than 
all  the  world,  now.  I  love  you,  Rose,  —  I  want  to  marry 
you. 

There  is  not  anything  more  that  need  be  said  ;  you  can 
imagine  all  the  rest  that  I  would  say  if  I  were  with  you 
in  person,  as  I  shall  be  with  you  in  spirit  as  you  read 
those  words.  I  suspect  that  even  they  were  not  necessary. 
You  must  have  guessed  my  love,  which  has  grown  steadily 
during  these  past  three  years,  and  have  understood  why  I 
could  not  speak  it  before.  It  was  not  merely  that  the 
ethics  of  our  relation  forced  me  to  keep  silent;  but  I 
have  felt,  since  you  are  situated  as  you  are,  and  Donald 
is  still  morally,  if  not  legally,  your  guardian  and  protector, 
I  should  speak  to  him  first.  I  have  done  so.  My  love 
for  you  was  almost  the  first  thing  that  he  heard  about, 
on  reaching  home.  And  Smiles,  dearest,  he  has  gladly 
given  his  consent  to  my  suit  and  wished  me  luck. 

Now  that  I  have  written  the  fateful  message,  my 
courage  is  restored,  in  part  at  least,  and  I  want  to  hear  the 
answer  from  your  own  sweet  lips.  I  can  scarcely  wait 
to  hear  it,  for  presumptuous  as  it  is  —  I  cannot  help 
hoping  that  it  will  be  the  one  I  so  desire.  I  cannot  help 
believing  that  you  do  care  for  me. 


THE   VALLEY  OF  INDECISION    335 

Please  don't  run  away,  dear.  I  want  to  see  you, 
alone,  as  soon  as  I  reach  Manchester. 

With  all  my  heart  and  soul  I  am 

Your  lover,  PHILIP." 

Smiles  slowly  replaced  the  note,  her  first  love 
letter,  in  its  envelope,  laid  it  in  the  box  and  locked 
this  in  the  drawer.  With  her  hands  resting  on  the 
dresser  she  leaned  forward  and  looked  searchingly 
into  her  own  eyes,  as  though  trying  to  read  her  very 
heart.  Her  lips  moved  and  formed  the  words,  "He 
cannot  help  hoping  that  the  answer  will  be  the  one 
he  desires.  He  knows  that  I  do  care  for  him.  Yes, 
he  cannot  help  knowing  it;  I  am  too  simple  to  hide 
my  feelings,  and  he  has  been  so  sweet  that  I  could 
not  help  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  oh,  I  wish  that  I  hadn't 
got  to  tell  him  .  .  .  to-night." 

Meanwhile  Donald  had  been  sitting  for  many 
minutes  in  the  silence  born  of  laboring  thoughts. 
He  had  guessed  Smiles  secret  in  part,  but  not 
in  its  entirety,  and  the  bitter  unhappiness,  which 
had  had  its  inception  in  Philip's  disclosure,  lay  over 
his  soul  like  a  pall. 

His  father  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  his  words 
caused  Donald  to  start,  for  they  seemed  to  be  the 
result  of  telepathic  communication. 

.  "You  told  us,  once,  that  she  wasn't  a  witch,  but, 
by  Jove,  there's  both  witchery  and  healing  in  that 
smile  of  hers,  Don.  Look  at  Muriel  now.  It's 
nothing  less  than  a  miracle  what  the  very  presence 
of  Rose  has  done  for  her." 


336  "SMILES" 

"I  was  wrong,"  answered  Donald,  shortly,  where- 
upon Ethel  laid  aside  her  book  and  joined  in  the 
conversation  in  a  low  voice,  so  that  the  absorbed 
Muriel  might  not  hear. 

"You  love  her,  Don,  it's  perfectly  obvious.  What 
are  you  waiting  for  ?  Now  that  Marion  has  behaved 
so  shamefully,  it  is  my  dearest  hope  that  you  will 
marry  Rose.  I  didn't  mean  to  speak  of  it;  but, 
really,  you  are  changing,  Donald,  and  I  don't 
want  to  think  of  your  becoming  a  self-centred  old 
bachelor." 

"Ethel's  right,"  supplemented  his  father.  "I'm 
only  surprised  that  you  haven't  asked  her  before. 
You've  been  in  the  same  house  with  her  for  a  whole 
week.  Don't  let  one  ...  er  ...  unfortunate  ex- 
perience discourage  you." 

Donald  carefully  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
got  up,  walked  to  the  railing,  and  stood  with  his  back 
toward  them. 

Then  he  laughed,  a  trifle  bitterly. 

"Thanks  for  the  advice.  I  won't  pretend  that 
I  don't  .  .  .  care  for  her ;  but  I  can't  ask  her  to 
marry  me,  as  you  suggest  —  that  is,  not  now." 

"Why  not,  I  should  like  to  know?"  demanded  his 
sister,  impatiently. 

"I  can't  explain,  either;  but  there  is  a  reason. 
I  am  bound  in  honor.  Please  don't  say  anything 
more  about  it." 

But  Ethel  was  not  to  be  silenced  so  easily. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about;    but 


THE   VALLEY  OF  INDECISION     337 

it's  nonsense,  anyway,"  she  answered.     "Why,  she 
worships  you.     Any  one  can  see  that." 

"Worships  me!"  echoed  Donald,  with  sarcastic 
inflection.  "What's  the  sense  in  exaggerating  like 
that,  Ethel?  I  suppose  that  she  is  fond  of  me  in  a 
way ;  the  way  you  are,  but  ..." 

"I  never  suspected  you  of  lacking  courage  before," 
interrupted  the  other.  "If  you  haven't  the  nerve 
to  ask  that  child  yourself,  /  will.  I  guess  that  I'm 
a  better  judge  of  feminine  nature  than  you,  Donald." 

"You  failed  to  prove  it  once  before,"  he  retorted, 
and  instantly  added,  with  a  tone  of  unusual  contri- 
tion, "  I  am  sorry  I  said  that.  It  was  unnecessary  and 
unworthy.  But,  really,  I  can't  allow  you  to  play 
Mrs.  John  Alden  to  my  Miles  Standish.  There  is 
a  reason  .  .  . " 

"Oh,  you  men.  You're  all  alike,  when  you  climb 
on  some  sort  of  a  high  horse  and  become  mysterious. 
I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about  —  perhaps 
you  are  deluding  yourself  with  an  absurdly  chivalrous 
notion  about  being  her  guardian  —  but  I  tell  you 
this.  A  normal  girl,  who  is  as  full  of  life  as  Rose, 
can't  be  expected  to  be  like  the  wishy-washy  heroines 
of  some  murky  novel,  remain  faithful  unto  death  to 
her  first  unrequited  love,  and  turn  into  a  sweetly 
spiritual  old  maid,  waiting  for  the  hero  to  come  and 
claim  her.  "Tain't  accordin'  ter  huming  nater,'  as 
Captain  Jim  says.  The  mating  call  is  too  strong, 
and  she  is  sure  to  respond  to  the  love  note  of  another 
sooner  or  later;  — don't  natter  yourself  that  you 


338  "SMILES" 


are  the  only  man  in  Smiles'  creation.  She's  as  sweet 
and  pure  as  any  girl  could  be,  but  she's  human,  like 
the  rest  of  us  ...  that's  what  makes  me  love  her 
so,  and,  unless  'you  speak  for  yourself,  John'  ..." 

"I  can't,  Ethel,  I  .  .  .  s-s-sh." 

The  girl's  light  footsteps  on  the  descending  stairs 
caused  him  to  break  off  with  a  low  note  of  warning, 
and  hardly  had  he  resumed  his  seat  before  she  was 
sitting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  and  rumpling  his  wavy 
hair,  as  naturally  as  a  child,  or  a  sister. 

Watching  him  closely,  Ethel  saw  the  veins  begin 
to  swell  on  the  back  of  his  muscular  hand,  as  his 
fingers  gripped  the  other  arm  of  the  chair.  She 
sighed,  and  then  a  look  of  wondering  distress  came 
into  her  face  as  the  thought  flashed  unbidden  through 
her  mind,  "I  wonder  if  it  is  possible  that  he  made 
some  unfortunate,  entangling  alliance  in  France, 
after  he  heard  from  Marion?  It  isn't  impossible. 
Men  are  often  caught  on  the  rebound  like  that." 

Donald  was  the  first  to  make  an  effort  to  intro- 
duce a  new  subject  into  the  thoughts  of  all,  by  say- 
ing, "Doesn't  the  Water  Witch  look  pretty  in  this 
light?"  as  he  pointed  to  a  trim  little  eighteen-foot 
race-about,  whose  highly  polished  mahogany  sides, 
free  from  paint,  reflected  the  water  which  reflected 
them.  "I  don't  know  as  I  have  properly  thanked 
you  for  having  her  put  in  commission  for  me,  Ethel." 

"I  thought  that  it  would  please  you,  and  I  had 
them  overhaul  and  rig  her  as  soon  as  I  learned  that 
you  were  coming  home." 


" Please  me!  Well,  I  should  say  'vraiment.' 
Come,  Smiles,  let's  run  away  from  all  the  world 
beside,  and  I'll  show  you  my  skill  as  a  skipper." 

Ethel  sent  a  meaning  glance  in  the  direction  of 
her  father,  but  he  was  laughing ;  "' Skill  as  a  skipper,' 
indeed,  on  such  an  evening  as  this!  He  would  be 
an  amateur,  for  certain,  who  couldn't  steer  with  one 
arm  free.  Whew,  there  isn't  a  breath." 

"There  is  going  to  be,  and  not  many  minutes 
from  now.  Unless  I  miss  my  guess  we'll  have  a 
thunderstorm,  and  a  west  wind  which  will  make 
short  work  of  this  humidity.  There,  feel  that  breeze  ? 
Ouch,  you  little  devil,  get  off  my  foot.  It  may  be 
large  but  it  wasn't  built  for  a  kiddie-car  racetrack." 

The  obstacle  had  caused  an  upset,  and  baby  Don, 
more  angry  than  hurt,  to  be  sure,  set  up  a  howl  and 
ran  to  Smiles'  arms  for  comfort. 

"You'll  spoil  that  baby,"  growled  his  uncle. 
"Well,  what  do  you  say,  are  you  coming?" 

He  stood  up,  and  stretched  his  powerful  frame  hi 
anticipation  of  the  exercise  that  he  loved. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Donald,  I'd  ...  I'd  rather 
not  .  .  .  to-night,"  answered  Rose. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  don't  like  the  ocean;  I  rather 
thought  that  you  wouldn't,"  he  responded  gently, 
for  he  had  hi  mind  the  fact  that  both  of  her  parents 
had  met  their  death  by  drowning.  The  girl  sat 
silently  for  a  little  while,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  waters,  here  and  there  upon  the  surface  of  which 
had  begun  to  appear  shadowy  streaks  of  varying 


340  "SMILES" 

tones,  as  though  the  Master  Painter  were  deftly 
sweeping  a  mighty,  invisible  brush  across  the  pic- 
tured surface.  Interblending  shades  of  soft  green, 
gray  and  violet  came  and  disappeared. 

Without  turning  her  head,  she  answered,  pensively, 
"It  is  very,  very  beautiful  and  I  love  it  —  in  a  way. 
But  I  am  afraid  of  it,  too.  Yes,  I  like  the  lordly 
mountains  better,  Don.  To  me  there  is  always 
something  sinister  about  the  sea,  even  when  it  is  in 
as  peaceful  a  mood  as  this;  storms  come  upon  it 
so  swiftly,  and  it  has  taken  so  many  precious  lives." 

Donald  laid  an  understanding  hand  upon  her 
shoulder  for  a  brief  moment. 

"I  won't  urge  you,"  he  said.  "Let's  go  for  a  little 
walk,  then." 

"I  ...  I  can't  do  that,  either,  Donald.  It  was 
meant  to  be  a  surprise,  but  .  .  .  Dr.  Bentley  is 
coming  down  from  Boston  to-night,  and  I  promised 
.  .  .  that  is,  he  has  asked  me  to  ...  to  go  some- 
where with  him."  Rose  was  blushing  again. 

"  Oh,  I  see.  I  didn't  know  that  Phil  was  coming, 
although,  of  course,  he  has  a  standing  invitation, 
and  knows  that  I'm  always  delighted  to  see  him," 
answered  Donald,  in  a  tone  which  he  made  natural 
with  an  effort. 

"I  invited  him  especially,"  broke  in  Ethel.  "And 
he  accepted  in  a  letter  to  Rose." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE   STORM  AND  THE  SACRIFICE 

BABY  DON  put  an  end  to  the  moment  of  strained 
silence  which  succeeded.  He  laid  hold  of  two  of 
Smiles'  fingers  and  began  to  pull  at  her,  while  say- 
ing insistently,  "  Come  down  to  the  beach  with  me, 
Aunty  Smiles,  and  hear  the  waves  ro-er."  This  was 
a  favorite  pastime  with  him. 

His  grandfather  smiled .  "  The  waves  are  '  ro-ering ' 
as  gently  as  any  sucking  dove,  to-night." 

But  the  baby  was  not  to  be  turned  from  his  design, 
and  tugged  persistently  until  Rose  was  obliged  to 
rise,  laughing.  Muriel  also  started  up. 

"I'll  go  down  with  you  and  try  out  the  Water 
Witch  alone  —  unless,  that  is,  either  of  you  want 
to  come  along,"  said  Donald. 

His  father  and  Ethel  refused,  with  a  show  of  indig- 
nation over  the  begrudging  form  which  the  invita- 
tion had  taken,  and  he  was  not  sorry.  Neither  man 
nor  girl  could  find  anything  to  say  as  they  walked 
side  by  side  to  the  beach,  and  the  former  launched 
the  dory  tender.  As  he  put  off  she  waved  him  a  cheery 
good-by,  and  sent  her  low  voice  across  the  broadening 
water : 

"Come  back  to  us  soon.  And  be  careful.  It  is 
beginning  to  get  rough  already." 

341 


342  "SMILES" 


With  a  note  in  his  voice  which  she  did  not  under- 
stand, he  called  back,  "Perhaps  I'll  sail  straight  over 
to  France.  You  wouldn't  care." 

"Foolish  man.  You  know  that  I  would,"  she 
cried,  and  then  turned  to  join  the  children  in  their 
game  of  skipping  pebbles. 

Donald  sent  the  skiff  through  the  choppy  waves 
with  vigorous  strokes  and  shot  her  around  at  the 
last  moment  for  a  perfect  landing.  The  mainsail 
and  jib  went  up  with  rapid  jerks  while  the  rings 
rattled  their  protest.  The  strenuous  physical  exer- 
cise brought  him  temporary  relief;  but,  when  he 
had  cast  off,  taken  the  tiller  and  after  a  few  moments 
of  idle  jockeying  back  and  forth  in  the  light  puffs, 
squared  away  for  the  run  seaward  before  the  rising 
wind,  his  gloomy  thoughts  returned,  to  settle  like 
a  flock  of  phantom  harpies  and  feast  on  his  brain. 

Out  of  nothing  grew  a  vision  of  Judd's  chalky, 
troubled  face,  and  he  felt  a  sudden  rush  of  sympathy 
for  the  crude  mountaineer,  who  had  likewise  loved 
and  lost.  "Smiles  wasn't  to  blame  then.  She  isn't 
to  blame  now.  She  never  led  either  of  us  on,"  he 
said  aloud ;  but  his  clenched  teeth  cut  through  the 
end  of  his  cigar,  nevertheless.  With  only  his  moody 
thought  to  bear  him  company,  Donald  steered  sea- 
ward. 

Starting  slowly,  the  racing  craft  was  momentarily 
given  new  impetus  by  swelling  wind  and  following 
wave ;  but  the  man  paid  no  heed  to  the  things  which 
should  have  served  him  as  a  warning  —  the  higher 


THE  STORM  AND  SACRIFICE   343 

heaving  of  the  waters,  now  as  gray  and  as  cloudy  green 
as  a  dripping  cliff,  and  touched  with  flecks  of  milky 
spume ;  and  the  uneven  tugging  of  the  sail.  When 
he  did  become  aware  of  the  swift  change  which  had 
taken  place,  hardly  five  minutes  had  passed  from  the 
time  he  had  started  out,  yet  a  quick  glance  behind 
him  disclosed  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  and  sea ; 
the  old  had  passed  away. 

Where  else  is  nature's  stupendous  power  so  evident 
as  in  the  sinister  speed  with  which  the  armies  of 
the  tempest  make  their  swift  advance,  company 
on  company,  regiment  on  regiment,  division  on 
division  ? 

In  the  moments  which  had  passed  unmarked  by 
him  in  his  absorption,  the  whole  western  sky  had 
become  overcast  and  blackened  by  the  vaporous 
army  of  invasion,  whose  forecoursing  streams  of 
cavalry  skirmishers  were  already  high  over  his  head. 
The  earth  had  lost  its  laughing  colors,  and  seemed 
to  lie  cowering,  with  its  head  covered  with  a  dull 
mantle,  and  the  sea  had  accepted  the  challenge  of 
the  storm  clouds  and  was  beginning  to  leap  forward 
in  swirling,  gloomy  waves. 

With  a  strong  steady  pull  on  the  tiller,  Donald 
brought  the  little  craft  around  in  a  sweeping  curve 
and  headed  into  the  wind,  which  had  suddenly 
become  chill  and  moist.  The  boat  tilted  sharply, 
and  a  dash  of  spray  leaped  the  bow  and,  changing 
back  to  water,  ran  down  the  leeward  side  of  the  cock- 
pit. A  drop  of  rain  splashed  on  his  bared  forearm^ 


344  "SMILES" 

and  then  another  and  another.  Through  the  dark, 
serried  clouds  came  a  dagger  thrust  of  fire,  to  be 
followed  by  a  distant  detonation  which  bore  his 
heart  back  to  the  shuddering  fields  of  France. 

The  new  picture  was  impressed  on  his  mind  as  on 
the  sensitized  film  of  a  camera,  and  simultaneously 
the  action  of  distant  figures  were  registered  upon 
it.  Toiling  up  the  steep  bank  to  the  cottage  was  a 
marionette  made  recognizable  as  Muriel  by  a  tiny 
dash  of  red  at  the  waist  and  on  the  head.  For  an 
instant  he  wondered  if  Smiles  and  his  little  namesake 
had  already  reached  the  house.  Then  he  caught  sight 
of  them,  still  on  the  beach.  There  was  fully  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  of  water  between  him  and  the  shore,  but 
the  distance  was  being  cut  down  bravely  by  the  race- 
about,  whose  specialty  was  going  to  windward  in 
a  blow.  Steadied  by  her  racing  keel,  she  cut  through 
the  waves  like  a  knife. 

The  child,  a  mere  gray  dot,  was  apparently  fleeing 
as  fast  as  his  sturdy  little  legs  could  carry  him  from 
the  pursuing  girl. 

In  spite  of  his  bitterness  of  soul,  Donald's  lips 
curved  into  a  smile  as  they  formed  the  words,  "Ah, 
the  battle  is  on,  once  more.  Rose  has  insisted  that 
they  hurry  up  to  the  house  and  Don  has  said,  'I 
won't.'  Jerusalem,  look  at  him  kite  it!" 

At  that  instant  a  tremulous  curtain  of  light  was 
let  down  from  heaven,  momentarily,  and  the  two 
tiny  figures  were  disclosed  as  clear  as  by  day.  He 
saw  the  baby  dodging  adroitly  under  Smiles'  out- 


THE   STORM  AND  SACRIFICE    345 

stretched  arms,  and  heading  out  onto  the  narrow 
pier,  to  which  was  attached  a  float  for  rowboats. 

"He's  got  his  'mad'  up,"  thought  the  man,  as  he 
veered  off  a  point  so  as  to  get  a  better  view.  "He 
isn't  afraid  of  thunder,  lightning  or  of  rain  —  or 
anything  else,  and  it  would  be  just  like  him  to  run 
right  off  the  .  .  .  Great  God  in  heaven,  he's  done  it ! " 
he  shouted  aloud  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  almost 
lost  his  grip  on  the  straining  tiller.  Even  as  he  had 
been  thinking,  the  light  had  grown  again,  and  he  saw 
the  child,  halfway  down  the  pier,  with  a  rebellious 
jerk  tear  himself  loose  from  the  clutching  grasp  on 
his  blouse,  lose  his  balance,  stumble  and  roll  from 
the  incline  into  the  now  surging  water. 

The  Water  Witch  luffed  sharply,  and  her  sail 
snapped  with  a  report  like  a  pistol  shot.  Without 
taking  his  horrified  gaze  from  the  unreal  picture 
which  the  ghastly  lightning  illumined,  Donald  in- 
stinctively steadied  the  boat,  and,  with  his  powerful 
body  strained  forward  as  though  he  were  urging 
the  craft  to  greater  effort.  "  God,  God,  God."  The 
words  came  through  his  clenched  teeth,  half  prayer, 
half  curse  at  the  Fate  which  held  him  helpless  to  act — 
and  the  wind  snatched  them  from  his  lips  and  bore 
them  away,  shrieking  in  malicious  madness. 

The  darkness  fell,  blotting  out  the  scene.  Then 
the  lightning  flared  again,  and,  in  the  brief  white 
second  that  it  lasted,  he  saw  Rose  climb  onto  a 
bench  against  the  railing  of  the  pier,  and  leap  into  the 
water. 


346  "SMILES" 

"  God,  she  can't  swim  a  stroke,"  groaned  the  man, 
as  he  pounded  his  left  hand  against  the  gunwale 
until  the  blood  came  through  the  abraded  skin. 
Plunged  in  darkness  again,  the  man,  whom  Rose 
had  called  unimaginative,  suffered  all  the  untold 
agony  of  soul  which  had  been  hers  during  the  moment 
in  which  she  had  been  forced  to  make  up  her  mind 
and  carry  out  the  act,  only  his  anguish  was  the  more 
intense,  for  hers  was  the  quick  action  and  his  the 
forced  inaction  of  a  man  bound  to  a  stake,  within  full 
sight  of  a  tragedy  being  enacted  upon  a  loved  one. 
The  distance  between  the  boat  and  shore  was  not 
so  great  but  that  he  could  see  everything  that  was 
occurring ;  but,  with  the  wind  dead  ahead  and  blowing 
viciously,  he  might  as  well  have  been  in  another 
world  for  aught  that  he  could  do. 

The  spell  of  darkness,  doubly  black  after  the  flash, 
seemed  like  an  eternity  to  Donald.  In  reality  it 
was  as  brief  as  the  others,  yet,  when  the  light  came, 
it  disclosed  other  forms  in  action.  A  youth,  whom 
he  had  vaguely  noticed  working  around  a  rowboat 
on  the  beach  as  he  put  out,  was  plunging  into  the 
water,  and  down  the  steeply  terraced  bank,  with 
leaping  strides,  was  running  a  tall,  slender  figure  clad 
in  light  gray.  Minute  as  it  was,  seen  from  that 
distance,  Donald  recognized  it.  It  was  Philip,  and 
his  bursting  heart  gave  voice  to  a  cry  of  welcome  and 
hope.  Philip  would  save  Smiles  ! 

True,  he  would  save  her  for  himself.  He  could  not 
keep  the  thought  out  of  his  surge  of  hope;  but  the 


THE   STORM  AND  SACRIFICE    347 

erstwhile  bitterness  was  swept  away.  Nothing  else 
mattered,  if  Rose  could  be  saved.  Measured  by  the 
ticking  of  a  clock,  the  action  was  taking  place  with 
dramatic  speed ;  but,  to  his  quivering  mind,  it  dragged 
woefully,  and  the  periods  when  the  light  failed  caused 
him  to  cry  aloud. 

Suddenly  the  searchlight  of  the  sky  was  turned  on, 
dazzlingly,  and  he  saw  the  unknown  youth  wading 
ashore,  bearing  in  his  arms  a  tiny  form  whose  ani- 
mated arms  and  legs  told  the  story  of  baby  Don's 
timely  rescue;  he  saw  Ethel  running  wildly  toward 
them,  to  gather  her  offspring  into  her  outstretched 
arms ;  he  saw  Philip  on  the  float,  hi  the  act  of  casting 
himself  prone.  Then  the  picture  faded  once  more 
and  he  railed  at  the  ensuing  blackness  as  though  it 
had  been  a  wilful,  animate  thing.  This  time  it  lasted 
longer,  and  the  man's  deep  breath  came  in  rasping 
sobs  before  the  scene  was  again  revealed.  Now  there 
were  two  forms  standing  unsteadily  on  the  float; 
two  forms  that  were  almost  one,  for  the  man  in  gray 
was  holding  the  girl  in  clinging  white  close  to  him. 
Still,  she  could  stand;  Smiles  was  alive,  she  was 
saved !  And  the  watcher's  lips  gave  vent  to  a  shout 
of  relief  and  joy,  a  shout  which  ended  in  a  groan. 
All  the  power  of  his  masterful  will  was  not  enough 
to  make  him  do  that  which  he  longed  to  —  turn  his 
tortured  eyes  from  the  picture  which  spelt  life  to 
Rose,  and  death  to  all  his  golden  dreams. 

Now  he  saw  them  moving  slowly  up  the  pier,  the 
girl  still  leaning  heavily  against  the  man,  and  sup- 


348  "SMILES 


ported  by  his  encircling  arm.  They  paused,  and 
Rose  half  turned,  and  slowly  waved  her  hand  toward 
the  sea  in  a  reassuring  gesture,  and  Donald  whispered, 
"  God  bless  her.  She  knows  that  I  have  been  a  wit- 
ness to  the  whole  thing,  and  she  remembers,  thinks 
of  me,  even  at  ...  at  this  time.  I  cannot  see  her 
face,  but  I  know  that  she  is  smiling." 

The  lingering  effulgence  from  a  final  wave  of  light 
vanished ;  the  two  forms  toiling  up  the  shore  blended 
into  the  returning  shadows ;  the  curtain  of  darkness 
fell,  and  the  drama  was  ended. 

"  Why  could  it  not  have  been  I?"  groaned  Donald. 
The  wind,  already  spent  from  its  brief  fury,  chortled 
softly  among  the  shrouds  as  though  it  was  laughing 
at  him,  another  mortal  made  the  victim  of  capricious 
Fate.  Surely  it  knew  that  he  would  have  served  as 
well  as  its  agent  and  would  only  too  gladly  have  given 
his  very  life  for  Smiles,  but  it  had  wilfully  sent  him 
away  and  sent  Opportunity  to  Philip. 

Heroes  and  martyrs;  what  are  they,  after  all, 
but  the  creatures  of  that  whimsical  goddess?  Most 
men  and  most  women  have  within  them  the  courage 
to  dare  all  things  if  the  occasion  comes,  but  to  a  few 
only,  chosen,  it  often  seems,  by  chance,  is  that  occa- 
sion granted.  Yet,  how  often  has  the  history  of  life, 
both  racial  and  individual,  been  changed  by  such  an 
event ! 

Donald  knew  his  star  had  sunk  below  the  far 
horizon  and  that  Philip's  had  been  carried  to  its 
zenith.  The  lover  was  likewise  the  rescuer.  It 


THE   STORM  AND  SACRIFICE   349 

were  as  though  the  play  had  been  written  and  the 
stage  set  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  bring  the 
romance  to  its  culmination,  and,  now  that  this  had 
been  accomplished,  the  useless  properties  were  being 
removed.  The  storm  was  over,  ending  as  quickly 
as  it  had  begun;  the  cloud-legions  were  hurrying 
eastward  overhead  to  form  the  setting  of  another 
tragedy  or  farce  somewhere  else,  or  to  return  to  the 
nothing  which  had  given  them  birth.  A  few  faint 
flashes  and  a  distant  rumble  or  two  marked  their 
passing. 

Along  the  western  edge  of  the  world  appeared  a 
narrow  streak  of  ruddy  light,  like  burnished  copper 
beneath  the  blackness  above.  Blazing  forth  with 
the  glory  of  a  conqueror,  the  sun  appeared  within 
it,  and  seemed  to  poise  immovable  for  an  instant 
'twixt  heaven  and  earth,  while  its  dazzling  rays  turned 
the  living  waters  to  molten  gold.  Then  it  slowly 
sank  from  sight,  and,  like  wraiths  of  the  dying  day, 
the  night-shadows  began  to  creep  out  from  the  shore, 
deeper  and  deeper,  nearer  and  nearer,  until  they 
engulfed  the  little  craft  and  its  owner. 

With  a  sudden  decision,  Donald  played  out  the 
sheet  and  put  the  tiller  over.  The  boat  swung  around 
into  the  path  of  the  wind  and  fled  seaward  again.  He 
could  not  go  home,  now.  He  must  fight  out  the 
battle  with  self,  as  it  is  always  fought,  alone,  and 
what  place  could  be  more  fitting  than  out  there  in 
the  darkness,  on  the  face  of  the  troubled  waters? 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

WHAT  THE  CRICKET  HEARD 

Two  hours  later  Donald  stumbled,  like  a  strong 
man  physically  played  out,  up  the  path  to  the  cottage. 

Ethel  saw  him  coming,  and  ran  part  way  down  the 
steps  to  meet  him.  With  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
she  half-sobbed  out  the  words  in  a  choked  voice, 
"Oh,  Don.  Do  you  know  what  has  happened? 
Could  you  see  from  your  boat?  Little  Donny? 
Smiles?  Could  you  see,  Don?" 

He  nodded,  dumbly;  but  his  sister  kept  on,  "She 
couldn't  swim,  but  yet  she  jumped,  instantly,  to 
save  him.  You  see,  she  thought  that  she  was  alone, 
she  didn't  know  about  that  boy.  Oh,  Donald,  we 
must  do  something  for  him,  something  splendid. 
He  saved  my  baby's  life." 

Ethel  was  crying  now,  and  the  man  forgot  his  own 
misery  in  comforting  her. 

"But  why  didn't  you  come,  Donald?  You  didn't 
know.  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  I  knew  that  everything  .  .  .  was  all  right. 
Rose  waved  to  me  and  called.  I  ...  I  couldn't 
come,  Ethel.  I  can't  make  you  understand." 

With  the  light  of  understanding  breaking  in  upon 
her  mind,  and  bringing  a  flood  of  sympathy  with  it, 

35® 


WHAT  THE  CRICKET  HEARD     351 

his  sister  once  more  drew  close  and  encircled  his  neck 
with  her  arms. 

"Where  ....  where  is  she?"  he  asked,  as  though 
the  words  were  wrung  from  him  against  his  will. 

"  Smiles  has  gone  for  a  little  walk  with  .  .  .  Dr. 
Bentley,  dear,"  answered  Ethel  in  a  manner  which 
she  strove  to  make  commonplace.  She  felt  his 
frame  quiver,  and,  with  a  motion  that  was  almost 
rough,  he  shook  off  her  comforting  arms,  and  mounted 
the  steps,  holding  to  the  rail  as  he  did  so.  He  went 
directly  indoors,  and  to  his  room,  with  the  instinct 
of  a  wounded  creature  to  seek  its  cave  or  burrow. 
Save  for  a  cold,  cheerless  patch  of  moonlight  on  the 
floor  it  was  dark,  and  he  felt  no  desire  to  turn  on  the 
lights.  For  a  while  he  sat,  silent  and  motionless, 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  But  he  could  not  stand 
the  closed-in  solitude.  The  plac3  seemed  filled  with 
the  fragrant  presence  of  the  girl  who  was  not  there ; 
would  never  be  there.  He  wanted  to  smoke,  and 
went  to  the  bureau  to  fumble  blindly  for  a  pipe  which 
he  remembered  he  had  left  on  it.  His  hand  touched 
something  small  and  glazed,  and  he  drew  it  sharply 
away.  The  something  was  the  little  rose  jar.  Smiles' 
first  gift  to  him,  which  had  travelled  far  since  that 
morning  on  the  mountain  side,  five  years  before. 

The  thoughts  which  would  not  be  stilled  repossessed 
his  mind,  and  drove  him  out-of-doors  again,  —  through 
a  side  door,  so  that  he  would  not  have  to  speak  to 
his  father  and  Ethel,  whose  voices  he  heard  in  low 
conversation  on  the  front  porch.  They  ceased  for  a 


352  "SMILES" 

moment,  as  though  the  speakers  had  heard  the  sound 
of  his  footsteps,  and  paused  to  listen.  The  night  was 
still,  so  still  that  the  chirp  of  a  cricket  under  the  piazza 
sounded  loudly.  It  was  a  cheerful  little  note,  and 
Donald  hated  it  for  its  cheer,  and  started  hastily  away 
toward  the  beach. 

High  above,  to  the  south,  the  moon  was  sailing 
through  a  sea  of  clouds,  in  silent  majesty.  Moonlit 
nights  he  had  seen  aplenty  since  that  one  in  the 
Cumberlands,  four  summers  previous,  when  he  had 
climbed  the  mountain,  impatient  to  see  once  more 
the  strange,  smiling  child  who  had  so  stirred  his  imagi- 
nation. In  the  old  days  he  had  loved  the  soft  and 
majestic  radiance.  Now  he  hated  it.  Had  he  not 
lived  long  in  war-ridden  France,  where  every  clear 
night  illumined  by  that  orb,  which  once  had  been 
the  glory  of  those  who  loved,  had  meant  merely  the 
advent  of  the  Hunnish  fiends,  whose  winging  visits 
brought  death  and  devastation  to  the  sleeping  towns 
below  ? 

He  had  fled  from  the  darkness  of  his  room,  but  now 
he  craved  the  darkness  again,  for,  perchance,  it 
might  blot  out  the  memory  of  other  nights,  beauti- 
ful as  golden  dreams,  or  hideous  as  nightmares, 
when  the  moon  had  shone  as  it  did  now. 

As  he  made  a  quick  turn  about  a  rocky  obstruc- 
tion in  his  rapid  path,  he  came  almost  full  upon  two 
others,  a  man  and  a  woman.  On  the  yielding  sand 
his  footfalls  had  made  no  sound,  and  they  were  una- 
ware of  his  sudden  approach..  Donald  stopped,  and 


WHAT  THE  CRICKET  HEARD    353 

stepped  hastily  back  out  of  sight ;  but  not  before 
he  had  seen  the  man's  arms  gather  the  slender 
form  of  the  girl  in  close  embrace,  and  seen  her  lift 
her  sweet  young  face  —  tear-be  jeweled,  but  smiling 
with  the  tenderness  of  love  —  for  his  kiss. 

With  the  rocks  put  between  him  and  the  two, 
Donald  stood  for  a  moment  with  clenched  fists  pressed 
brutally  against  his  eyes  as  though  to  grind  out  the 
picture  recorded  there.  Then,  with  blind  but  nervous 
strides,  he  fled  from  the  spot  which,  at  the  one  time, 
held  such  happiness  and  such  despair. 

It  was  close  to  midnight  when  his  steps  bore  him 
instinctively  back  to  the  unlighted  house;  but  this 
time  the  exercise  and  the  cool  night  air  had  failed 
to  bring  relief  to  his  heart.  He  could  not  face  the 
idea  of  tossing  for  hours  on  a  sleepless  bed,  and  so 
passed  the  front  door  and  seated  himself  within  the 
dark  shadows  of  a  corner  of  the  piazza,. 

"Chirr-r-p,  chirr-r-p,  chirr-r-p,"  began  a  pleasantly 
shrill  little  voice  beneath  him.  Over  and  over  it 
repeated  the  sound,  until  the  man's  feverish  imagina- 
tion had  made  it  into  "cheer-up,"  and  he  cursed  the 
cricket  for  its  silly  advice.  So  busy  was  his  mind 
with  introspection  that  he  did  not  hear  the  door 
open  gently,  and  the  first  intimation  that  he  was 
not  alone  was  brought  to  him  by  the  sound  of  a  light 
footstep  directly  behind  him.  He  turned  his  head, 
and  saw  a  dim,  ethereally  white  figure,  —  Rose. 

"I  thought  that  you  would  never  come,  Donald," 
she  whispered,  as  she  sank  down  close  by  his  side  on 


354  "SMILES' 

Muriel's  little  stool,  and  laid  her  cool  hand  on  his 
fevered  one.  "I  have  been  watching  from  my 
window  for  an  hour.  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  until  I 
had  told  you  something." 

With  an  effort  he  answered  evenly,  "I  ...  I 
think  that  I  know  what  it  is,  Rose." 

"You  know?    But  how  .  .  .?" 

"I  saw  you  .  .  .  and  Philip,  on  the  beach," 
he  replied,  dully. 

"You  saw  ...  Oh!  And  you  heard  what 
.  .  .?" 

"No.  I  went  away  at  once,  of  course.  But  I 
did  not  need  to  hear.  I  ...  I  am  glad  if  you  are 
happy,  Smiles." 

She  was  silent  for  a  long  moment ;  then  whispered 
with  a  note  of  joy  in  her  low  voice  that  wrung  his 
heart,  "Yes,  I  am  very  happy,  Donald." 

"Philip  is  a  splendid  fellow." 

"You  wanted  me  to  ...  to  marry  him,  Don?" 

"I  wanted  you  to?"  He  barely  succeeded  in 
checking,  unspoken,  the  burning  words  on  his  tongue ; 
but  this  time  his  voice  betrayed  him,  and,  if  he  had 
not  been  resolutely  keeping  his  face  turned  away 
from  her,  he  might  have  seen,  even  in  that  dim  light, 
an  odd  change  come  into  the  expression  of  her  lovely 
face,  and  seen  a  wonderfully  tender  and  somewhat 
mischievous  smile  touch  her  lips.  All  that  he  did 
know,  however,  was  that  she  gave  a  low,  happy 
laugh,  which  was  like  a  knife-thrust  to  his  soul. 

"Don."  she  said  at  length,    "I  have  told  no  one 


else  of  my  great  secret  yet,  for  I  wanted  to  tell  you, 
first  of  all.  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  without  telling 
you,  for  you  have  been  such  a  dear  confidant  and 
father  confessor  to  me  that  it  seems  as  though  I 
must  tell  you  everything.  I  ...  I've  just  got 
to  tell  you  what  has  happened.  May  I? " 

The  man  barely  smothered  a  groan.  Must  he 
hear  this  girl,  in  her  simplicity,  talk  on  and  on  about 
the  man  she  loved,  and  had  promised  to  marry? 
It  struck  him,  too,  as  strange  that  she  should  be  will- 
ing to  lay  bare  anything  so  sacred  in  a  woman's 
life,  but  then  she  was  her  natural  self,  and  quite 
different  from  most  girls,  in  her  attitude  toward  him. 

But  Rose  was  speaking  quietly,  and  as  though  to 
herself,  "Philip  has  been  so  sweet  and  good  to  me 
while  you  were  away.  You  remember  that  you, 
yourself,  told  me  that  you  meant  him  to  take  your 
place  as  my  unofficial  protector,  and  that  I  should 
go  to  him  with  my  perplexities.  It  would  have  been 
better  for  me  if  I  had  followed  your  advice  closer, 
but  now  I  can  laugh  at  spilt  milk." 

Rose  had  already  confessed  to  Donald  about  her 
"investment"  and  been  by  him  cross-examined  into 
an  admission  of  her  little  charities,  which,  hi  their 
aggregate,  had  so  nearly  wiped  out  her  bank  account. 
She  could  laugh  about  them  now,  for  she  had  worx  to 
her  goal,  and  already  begun  to  earn  a  livelihood, 
but  she  had  carefully  hidden  in  her  heart  the  story 
of  the  bitter  struggle  in  which  she  had  engaged  to 
make  both  ends  meet  during  the  last  few  months  ?£ 


356  "SMILES" 

her  course,  when  her  mysterious  refusals  to  accept 
any  invitations  from  Ethel,  Miss  Merriman  or  Philip 
for  her  free  afternoons  and  evenings,  had  left  them 
wondering  what  on  earth  she  was  doing.  No  one 
guessed  that  they  were  spent  in  earning  the  few 
sadly  needed  dollars  which  her  pride  forbade  her 
to  borrow  from  any  of  them. 

"Now  I  can  laugh  at  spilt  milk,"  Smiles'  words 
echoed  in  Donald's  brain,  and  hurt.  He  knew  that 
Philip  was  fairly  well-to-do,  and,  of  course,  Rose 
would  want  for  nothing  when  she  married  him. 
This  was  the  thought  which  brought  the  poignant 
stab. 

"It  was  not  strange  that  I  began  .  .  .  that  he 
became  very  dear  to  me,  was  it,  Donald?" 

The  man  shook  his  head  dumbly.  He  could  not 
answer  her  in  words. 

"Perhaps  I  should  not  say  it;  but  some  time  ago 
I  began  to  guess  that  .  .  .  that  he  loved  me. 
Not  that  he  said  a  word,  Donald,  that  is,  not  until 
to-day,  —  and  then  he  didn't  say  it,"  she  laughed 
a  little.  "He  wrote  it  and  he  ...  he  asked  me  to 
marry  him.  He  said,  besides,  that  he  had  spoken 
to  you,  first,  and  that  you  had  given  your  brotherly 
consent.  It  was  a  very  sweet  letter,  Don;  the 
first  real  love  letter  that  I  ever  received,  think  of 
that!" 

Only  by  clinching  his  teeth  and  gripping  the  arms 
of  the  chair  could  the  man  repress  a  groan. 

"It  was   after   he   had  .  .  .  had   saved   my   life 


WHAT  THE  CRICKET  HEARD    357 

that  .  .  ."  She  stopped,  and  broke  into  her 
thought  with  the  words,  "Oh,  Donald,  I  can  never, 
never  forget  to-night,  and  the  awful  feeling  that  I 
had  when  little  Don  went  into  the  water.  You  see, 
you  were  far  away,  and  I  didn't  know  about  that 
brave  boy  on  the  beach,  so  I  thought  that  I  had  got 
to  save  him  if  I  could,  and  I  didn't  know  how  I  could. 
And  then  those  black,  cold  waves  going  over  my  head  ! 
I  was  quite  sure  that  I  was  going  to  die,  and  I  almost 
hoped  so  for  ...  for  I  couldn't  find  Donny." 

She  leaned  her  head  against  his  knee  and  cried  a 
little ;  but,  when  he  tried  to  speak,  and  tell  her  what 
had  been  in  his  heart,  she  interrupted  hastily  with, 
"Oh,  please,  let's  not  speak  of  it,  ever  again.  I 
know  how  you  felt,  too. 

"It  was  after  that  that  Philip  asked  me  for  my 
answer.  I  knew  what  it  was  going  to  be,  but  .  .  ." 

Donald  could  not  stand  it  any  longer.  "I  know. 
You  love  him,  you  are  going  to  marry  him,  Smiles. 
It's  all  right,  he  is  a  splendid  fellow,  dear,"  he  re- 
peated mechanically. 

"Yes,  he  is,  and  I  do  love  him,"  she  replied  quietly ; 
but  she  could  not  contain  her  secret  any  longer 
and  added,  "But  a  girl  can't  marry  her  brother, 
Donald." 

"Her  brother?    Please,  Rose,  don't  joke." 

"It's  true!" 

"You!  Philip's  sister?  It's  impossible,  unbe- 
lievable!" Yet  a  surge  of  mad,  uncontrollable  joy 
swept  over  him,  and  his  heart  burst  into  song. 


358  "SMILES" 

"Unbelievable,  yes.  But  it's  so,  Donald,  although 
I  can  hardly  credit  it  yet,  myself." 

"But  how?  Tell  me  how  you  found  out.  What 
happened?" 

"Don't,  you're  hurting  my  hand,  Donald.  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it  as  soon  as  I  can,  but  please  don't 
ask  so  many  questions  all  at  once,  and  please  tell  me 
first  that  you  are  glad,  that  my  great  secret  makes 
you  happy,  as  it  does  me." 

"Happy?  Oh,  great  heavens !  But  you?  Are  you 
really  pleased?  You  said  that  you  loved  him !" 

-"And  so  I  did,  and  do  ...  dearly.  But,  you 
see,  Donald,  although  I  have  cared  for  him  for  a  long, 
long  while,  there  was  something  about  my  affection 
that  I  could  not  explain,  even  to  myself.  It  was 
.  .  .  was  different,  somehow,  from  what  .  .  . 
from  what  I  felt  it  must  be  for  the  man  whom  I 
might  marry.  Now  I  know  that  it  was  the  subcon- 
scious call  of  the  blood,  the  love  of  a  sister  for  a  brother, 
and  never  anything  else." 

Lifted  and  swayed  by  a  great  happiness  and  re- 
born hope,  Donald  laughed  aloud. 

"Oh,  you're  a  strange  little  girl,  Smiles.  I  had  not 
realized  that  you  were  fully  grown  up  until  to-night  ; 
but  now  I  know  that  you  are  a  woman,  —  a  child  no 
longer.  My  little  Rose  would  never  have  tried  to  be 
so  dramatic,  nor  would  she  have  tried  to  analyze 
her  love,  and  label  it  the  call  of  kin,  rather  than 
that  of  a  mate.  I  used  to  think  that  you  were  a 
clear  crystal  in  which  I  might  see  reflected  your  very 


WHAT  THE   CRICKET  HEARD    359 

heart  and  soul,  but  now  you  have  become  a  woman 
and  therefore  a  mystery.  Oh,  woman,  what  do  you 
know  about  love?  Not  the  kind  that  Philip  in- 
spired in  you ;  but  the  flame  which  burns  unquench- 
able—  which  purifies  and  strengthens,  or  consumes 
the  one  who  ..."  he  stopped,  surprised  at  his 
own  rush  of  words,  —  and  abashed. 

The  hand,  which  she  had  slipped  unconsciously 
into  his,  trembled  and  thrilled  him. 

"Perhaps  ...  I  do  ...  know  it,  Donald,"  came 
the  words,  barely  audible. 

"Smiles!    It  isn't  possible  that  you  .  .  .  that  I 
.  .  .  Oh,  my  dear  one,  don't  say  anything  to  make 
me  hope  anew,  after  what  I  have  endured  to-night 
unless  r.  .  ." 

"Do  you  really  care,  Don?  In  that  other  way,  I 
mean." 

He  stood  unsteadily  up ;  things  had  become  un- 
real and  he  could  not  speak.  Smiles,  still  holding  his 
hand,  rose  also.  The  top  of  her  head  came  just 
below  the  level  of  his  eyes ;  the  moonlight  across  it 
set  her  wavy  hair  to  shimmering.  She  could  not 
lift  her  eyes  to  his,  but  with  a  brave,  low  voice, 
she  went  on,  when  she  saw  that  he  would  not 
answer. 

"All  this  past  week  I  have  been  the  most  brazen 
of  girls,  and  deliberately  given  you  a  hundred  chances 
to  tell  me,  if  it  were  so.  I  was  quite  sure  that  it 
couldn't  be,  and  besides,  you  told  Philip  .  .  .  ." 

"I  know;    but  I  thought  .  .  .  you  see  he  told 


360  "SMILES" 

me  that  he  loved  you,  and  that  he  was  sure  that  you 
cared  for  him." 

"I  did,  just  as  I  do  now.  Oh,  man,  you  have  been 
so  blind,  or  so  noble.  Have  I  got  to  ask  you  to  marry 
me?" 

For  the  barest  instant  she  looked  up  at  him,  and 
he  saw  that  the  smile  he  loved  was  whimsical  as  well 
as  madly  appealing. 

"No,"  almost  shouted  Donald.  "I  won't  hear 
of  such  a  thing  as  your  being  one  of  these  'new 
women/  You're  a  siren  out  of  the  olden  days  of 
mystic  legend,  and  I  have  kept  my  ears  stopped  up 
against  your  witching  song,  which  I  was  afraid  to 
hear.  But  now  I  want  to  hear  it,  day  and  night, 
through  eternity.  Wait,  not  yet.  First  .  .  . 
Smiles,  will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  what  an  anticlimax!  Why  did  you  have  to 
become  so  practical  and  unromantic,  after  such  a 
splendid  start,"  she  laughed  happily.  "No  lover  is 
supposed  to  ask  that  question  with  such  brutal 
bluntness.  Come,  I  will  teach  you  the  romance  of 
love." 

It  was  dark  on  the  veranda.  The  moon  had  sud- 
denly slipped  out  of  sight  behind  one  of  the  laggards 
in  the  retreating  cloud  army;  but  Donald  needed  no 
earthly  light  in  order  to  realize  that  Rose  was  hold- 
ing out  her  arms  to  him,  as  simply  and  frankly  as 
she  had  five  years  before. 

"  Chir-r-r-p,  chir-r-r-p,  chir-r-r-p,"  thrilled  the  cricket 
underneath  the  porch. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

A   LOST  BROTHER 

How  long  it  may  have  been  before  the  man,  eager 
as  he  was  to  hear  the  full  explanation  of  the  seeming 
miracle  through  which  his  happiness  had  been  made 
possible,  was  ready  to  urge  Rose  to  tell  the  story 
which  she  had  promised,  and  what  whispered  words 
the  cricket  heard  in  the  interim,  concern  only  the 
three  of  them. 

When,  at  last,  he  was  able  to  bring  his  winging 
thoughts  down  from  the  clouds  to  earth,  it  was  to 
discover  still  another  unsuspected  trait  in  the  woman 
who  had  become  his  all ;  for  Smiles,  eager  and  ex- 
dted,  was  still  dwelling  in  a  world  of  romance,  and 
she  insisted  upon  recounting  what  had  happened, 
almost  verbatim,  and  in  a  dramatic  manner  quite 
unlike  the  simplicity  which  naturally  characterized 
her  speech. 

Nor  could  Donald's  commonplace  interruptions, 
during  the  course  of  which  he  affirmed  that  fact 
was  stranger  than  fiction  and  that  the  world  was 
a  small  place  after  all,  check  her  narrative. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  can  make  you  under- 
stand why  I  acted  as  I  did,  when  Philip  asked  me 
for  my  answer,  dear.  Indeed,  I  hardly  know,  my- 

361 


362  "SMILES" 

self,"  she  began.  "It  wasn't  that  I  didn't  know  what 
I  had  got  to  tell  him,  for  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
long  ago  —  at  least,  it  seems  long  ago,  although  it 
was  only  this  morning,  when  I  got  his  letter.  Much 
as  I  cared  for  him,  my  heart  knew  that  there  was  only 
one  man  in  the  world  for  me  —  even  though  he  ap- 
peared not  to  want  me  ! " 

The  digression  caused  a  further  and  wholly  natural 
delay. 

"Perhaps  it  was  because  I  hated  to  hurt  him,  and 
wanted  desperately  to  postpone  the  evil  moment ; 
but,  at  any  rate,  I  begged  him  to  wait,  and  said  that 
he  didn't  know  all  the  facts  about  me.  I  told  him 
that  I  wasn't  sure  that  I  ought  to  marry  any  one. 
And  that  was  true,  Donald.  I've  often  worried  about 
it,  for  I  didn't  know  anything  about  my  parents, 
and  heredity  counts  for  so  much,  doesn't  it  ? 

"Of  course  he  replied,  just  as  I  might  have  expected, 
that  he  didn't  know  what  I  meant,  but  that  nothing 
else  could  possibly  matter  to  him,  if  only  I  ...  I 
cared. 

"But  I  said  that  I  had  to  explain,  —  I  guess  that  I 
was  a  little  panic-stricken,  he  seemed  so  deadly  in 
earnest,  —  and  then  I  told  him  that  I  wasn't  Big 
Jerry's  grandchild  really,  but  only  a  little  waif  whom 
he  had  taken  in.  'So,  you  see,  I  am  a  nameless 
girl,  Philip,'  I  said.  'I  don't  mean  it  in  a  bad 
sense,  for  I  know  that  I  had  a  dear  father  and  mother, 
whom  I  just  barely  remember,  but  .  .  .' 

"I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  was  going  to  add, 


A  LOST  BROTHER  363 

but  he  broke  in  with,  'What  earthly  difference  do 
you  think  that  could  make  to  me,  dear?'  And 
then  he  told  me  that  he  knew  I  was  .  .  .  was  good 
and  pure,  that  any  one  who  was  acquainted  with  me 
could  see  that  I  must  have  come  from  sterling  stock, 
even  if  my  parents  were  simple  mountaineers. 

"'But  they  weren't,  Phil,'  I  answered.  'I  was 
a  poor  little  city  waif,  who  had  lost  her  parents  and 
didn't  know  where  she  came  from,  or  even  her  name.' 
And  then  I  told  him  the  story  which  Big  Jerry  told 
you  that  first  night  on  the  mountain. 

"And  then,  Donald,  then  it  was  my  turn  to  be 
surprised,  for  Philip  grasped  my  arm  until  he  hurt 
me,  and  cried,  'I  can't  believe  it,  Rose.  I  won't 
believe  it ! ' 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  say,  and  somehow  I  felt 
both  hurt  and  a  little  angry  that  it  should  make  any 
difference  hi  his  love  —  yes,  I  did,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  I  couldn't  marry  him  anyway.  Yet,  at 
the  same  time,  I  had  an  impression  that  it  wasn't 
that,  but  something  quite  different,  which  was  troub- 
ling his  heart.  So  I  said,  'What  is  it,  Philip?  I 
do  not  understand  why  you  are  acting  so  strangely. ' 

"His  only  reply  was  to  ask  me,  in  an  odd  voice, 
when  it  happened ;  how  long  ago. 

"I  told  him  'eighteen  years,  when  I  was  a  baby  about 
three  years  old.'  Don,  I  can't  teU  you  how  I  felt 
then,  for  he  looked  so  peculiar  —  almost  as  though 
he  were  stunned.  And  he  could  not  seem  to  say 
anything.  I  was  frightened.  I  begged  him  to  speak 


364  "SMILES" 


to  me,  and  told  him  that  he  looked  as  though  he  had 
seen  a  ghost.  'I  have  ...  at  least  I  have  if  my 
suspicion  is  true.  But  it  can't  be;  oh,  it  is  unbe- 
lievable, impossible/  he  broke  out. 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  say  or  do,  he  looked  almost 
as  though  he  were  .  .  .  were  not  in  his  right  mind ; 
and,  when  I  put  my  hand  on  his  arm  and  begged 
him  to  tell  me  what  the  trouble  was,  he  shook  it  off, 
and  began  to  speak  .  .  .  oh,  I  cannot  tell  you 
how.  It  sounded  as  though  some  one  else  were 
speaking,  and  uttering  the  words  hesitatingly. 

' '  "Try  and  remember,  Smiles.  Call  on  your  memory 
of  the  long  ago,  if  there  is  a  single  spark  of  it  still 
lingering  in  your  mind.  Oh,  it  means  so  much,  dear, 
so  much  that  I  am  almost  afraid  to  ask  the  question, 
but  I  have  got  to,  I  have  got  to ! ' 

"He  waited  until  I  thought  I  should  go  mad,  Don, 
and  then  said,  in  little  more  than  a  whisper,  'Did 
you  ever,  back  in  your  babyhood,  hear  the  name, 
Anna  Rose  Young?  Think,  Smiles,  think  hard.' 

"Perhaps  you  will  not  believe  it;  but  it  seemed 
as  though  something  long  forgotten  were  actually 
stirring  in  my  heart,  and  as  though  it  were  groping 
blindly  in  the  mists  of  memory.  I  could  not  be  sure, 
yet  something  forced  me  to  answer,  uncertainly, 
'Yes,  I  think,  I  believe  that  I  do  remember  that  name ; 
but  I  don't  know  where  I  could  have  heard  it.  What 
do  you  mean,  Philip  ? ' 

"His  answer  surprised  me  as  much  as  the  first 
question,  for  he  said, 'Was  it  in  .  .  ..Louisville?' 


A  LOST  BROTHER  365 

"'Louisville?  I  have  never  been  there,  Philip. 
And  yet  .  .  .'  There  was  the  strange  stir  in  my 
memory  again.  Oh,  it  was  all  so  puzzling. 

"'Anna  Rose  Young,'  he  repeated  insistently. 
'They  called  her  Rose,  because  .  .  .  because  her 
mother's  name  was  the  same.' 

"'They  called  her  .  .  .  Philip,  I  do  remember, 
now.  It's  my  own  name !  Oh,  Philip,  you  know  who 
I  am !  But  how,  Phil  ? '  I  was  clinging  to  him  as 
though  I  must  draw  the  truth  from  him  physically ; 
but  he  went  on,  almost  mechanically,  and  his  breath 
came  hard,  I  could  feel  him  tremble,  Don." 

Now  her  own  low  voice  was  trembling  excitedly. 

"'A  tall,  slender  man,  who  stooped  a  little,  Smiles/ 
he  said.  '  His  face  was  thoughtful  and  kindly.  He  kad 
a  close-clipped,  pointed  beard,  and  wore  gold-rimmed 
spectacles,  and  his  eyes  were  very  blue,  as  blue 
as  your  own,  Rose.  Tell  me,  does  the  picture  mean 
anything  to  you  ? ' 

"I  tried  to  visualize  it,  Don,  and  I  could,  as  though 
it  were  some  one  far,  far  off  whom  I  could  see  through 
the  mist. 

"'My  daddy,  Philip,'  I  whispered;  I  could  hardly 
speak  at  all,  for  my  throat  was  aching  and  I  was 
crying." 

She  was  crying,  now,  but  did  not  realize  it. 
"'A  sweet-faced  woman,  with  wavy  brown  hair 
in  which  were  golden  glints  like  yours,'  he  went  on, 
monotonously;  but  this  time  I  could  not  answer  at 
all." 


366  "SMILES" 


Smiles  stopped,  and,  for  an  instant,  sobbed  with- 
out restraint,  with  her  head  against  Donald's  arm, 
and  he  ran  his  hand  tenderly  and  unsteadily  over 
her  hair. 

Then  she  lifted  her  face,  bathed  in  tears,  and 
whispered,  "You  understand,  don't  you,  Don? 
After  all  the  years,  to  remember,  ever  so  vaguely ; 
but,  still,  to  remember  my  former  life,  and  to  know 
my  own  name !  Oh,  I  can't  help  it  ...  I  couldn't 
when  he  told  me." 

"Yes,  yes.     I  understand,  dearest." 

"Philip  went  on,  desperately,  it  seemed  to  me. 
'Another  picture,  Smiles.  Can  you  see  a  spindle- 
legged,  mischievous  boy  of  ten,  who  loved  his  little 
sister  dearly;  but  teased  her  from  morning  until 
night.  His  name  was  .  .  .' 

"' Tilly!  Oh,  I  remember.  At  least,  that  was 
what  baby  Rose  called  him.' 

"'Yes,  she  called  him  Tilly.  She  called  him  that 
because  .  .  .  because  she  couldn't  say  ..."  Philip." 
Oh,  little  Rose,  don't  you  understand?  I  came  to 
find  a  wife,  and  I  have  found  ....  a  sister!" 

"But,  his  name  ..."  interrupted  Donald. 

"I  know.  I  will  tell  you.  But  first,  Donald, 
my  poor  father  and  mother.  I  thought  that  perhaps 
I  was  to  find  them,  too;  but  God  willed  otherwise. 
Big  Jerry  was  right.  They  .  .  .  they  were  both 
drowned." 

Eager  as  he  was  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  story,  the 
man  could  not  but  keep  silent,  in  understanding 


A  LOST  BROTHER  367 

sympathy,  until  she  was  ready  to  proceed  of  her  own 
accord.  It  was  once  more  as  Smiles  herself  had 
written  in  her  letter  to  him,  after  Big  Jerry's  death. 
Happiness  was  tinged  with  grief,  for  the  night's 
strange  disclosures  had  re-opened  an  old  wound, 
long  since  closed. 
Finally  she  went  on. 

"I  won't  try  to  tell  you  the  explanation  in  Philip's 
words ;  but  it  seems  that  we  used  to  live  in  Louis- 
ville. Philip's  own  father  was  a  well-to-do  phy- 
sician, named,  of  course,  Dr.  Bentley.  He  died 
when  Phil  was  a  baby,  and,  when  he  was  seven  years 
old,  mother  married  Mr.  Robert  Young,  a  mining 
engineer.  I  was  born  a  year  later  —  I  am  really 
his  half-sister,  you  see." 

"But,"  interrupted  Donald,  "I  should  think  that 
the  name  Philip  Bentley  might  have  stirred  a  re- 
sponsive chord  in  your  memory  before  this  —  no, 
I  don't  suppose  that  it  would  have,  after  all,  for  you 
were  so  small  that  you  didn't  remember  your  own 
last  name." 

"Yes,  and  not  only  that,  but  Philip  was  always 
called  'Young'  —  when  he  was  a  boy,  anyway. 
Well,  it  seems  that,  when  he  was  ten,  and  I  was 
three,  he  was  sent  all  alone  to  visit  an  uncle,  a  brother 
of  his  own  father,  who  lived  in  Richmond.  It  was 
while  he  was  away  for  the  summer  that  my  dear 
father  was  sent  into  the  Cumberland  Mountains 
between  Kentucky  and  Virginia,  prospecting  for 
coal  on  behalf  of  the  company  in  the  employ  of  which 


368  "SMILES" 

he  was.  He  took  mother  and  me  with  him  for  a 
camping  vacation,  and  .  .  .  and  you  know  as 
much  as  I  about  the  tragedy  which  separated  us, 
and  made  such  changes  in  our  lives." 

Rose  paused  again,  a  prey  to  memory. 

"And  then?"  prompted  Donald,  gently. 

"Then,  Philip  said,  when  no  word  came  from  his 
parents  for  several  weeks,  his  uncle  left  no  stone  un- 
turned to  find  them,  and  at  length  the  Federal 
Revenuejauthorities  located  the  bodies  of  my  dear 
mother  and  father,  and  part  of  their  wrecked  canoe, 
in  the  swift  river,  almost  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tains. Of  course  every  one  assumed  that  I  had  .  .  . 
had  been  drowned,  too." 

"Oh,  thank  God  that  you  were  not,  my  dear," 
breathed  Donald,  so  softly  that  she  could  not  hear 

frfm. 

"Then  Philip  went  to  live  permanently  with  his 
uncle,  who  raised  and  educated  him  as  one  of  his 
own  sons.  Of  course  he  took  his  real  name  again. 
Oh,  Donald,  isn't  it  too  wonderful?" 

"Yes,  dear  heart,  wonderful,  indeed."  There  was 
a  long  silence.  Then  Donald  asked,  softly,  "And 
Philip  ?  How  does  he  feel  ?  " 

"He  ...  he  is  happy,  too,"  came  her  reply, 
somewhat  haltingly.  "Of  course,  just  at  first  .  .  . 
oh,  please  don't  ask  me,  Don.  But  now  he  is  content, 
for  he  knows  that  I  ...  I  couldn't  ever  have  been 
anything  else  to  him,  because  I  loved  ano  ....  I 
loved  you" 


A   LOST   BROTHER  369 

"He  knows  that?    Rose,  you  didn't  tell  him ? " 
"Yes,  I  did,"  she  answered,  bravely.     "And  let 

me  tell  you,  sir,  that  it  is  lucky  for  you  that  .  .  . 

that  you  asked  me ;    for,  if  you  hadn't,  you  would 

have  had  my  big  brother  to  deal  with  !" 

And  what  the  cricket  heard  then,  has  nothing  to  do 

with  thig  story. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  HALLOWED   MOON 

were  to  be  married  early  in  September  — 
a  month  from  the  day  when  Smiles  so  nearly 
her  life  to  save  another's. 

During  the  days  which  must  pass  before  she  be- 
came Donald's  in  the  full  trinity  of  body,  mind  and 
soul,  his  family  kept  her  at  Manchester-by-the-Sea 
and  each  hour  bound  her  more  closely  to  the  heart  of 
each. 

For  her,  Ethel  planned  and  purchased,  sewed  and 
supervised,  putting  as  much  loving  thought  into  the 
making  of  her  simple  outfit  as  though  it  was  she  her- 
self who  was  to  be  wedded.  The  days  were  busy  ones, 
the  evening  hours  rich  in  love  and  contentment,  for 
Donald  came  down  from  the  city  each  night,  and  the 
two  learned  the  way  to  many  a  secret  chamber  in 
each  other's  heart. 

Early  hi  the  week  which  was  to  bring  to  a  close  the 
separate  stories  of  the  man  and  maid,  and  write  the 
first  chapter  in  the  single  history  of  man  and  wife, 
Donald  left  them  to  make  a  brief,  but  important, 
trip  which,  he  said,  could  not  be  postponed ;  and  oh, 
how  empty  life  seemed  to  Smiles  during  those  few 
days. 

320 


THE   HALLOWED   MOON        371 

But  they  were  ended  at  last,  and  the  marriage 
evening  came,  —  still  and  mellow,  with  the  voices 
of  both  shore  and  sea  tuned  to  soft  night  melodies. 

Below  in  the  hall,  hidden  within  a  bower  of  palms, 
an  orchestra  of  Boston  Symphony  players  drew 
whispering  harmonies  from  the  strings  of  violins,  harp 
and  cello,  and,  at  the  signal,  swept  into  the  dreamy, 
enchanted  notes  of  Mendelssohn's  marriage  song. 

Little  Don,  very  proud  and  important  —  and 
somewhat  frightened  —  picked  up  the  train  which  he 
was  to  bear  as  page,  and  down  the  winding  stair- 
way, by  the  side  of  her  new-found  brother,  moved 
Rose,  gowned  in  traditional  white,  made  with  be- 
fitting simplicity,  her  shimmering  hair  no  longer 
crowned  with  the  square  of  a  nurse  cap,  but  by  a 
floating,  misty  veil  and  the  orange-blossom  wreath  of 
a  bride.  Never  had  her  warm  coloring  been  so 
delicate  and  changeful,  her  expressive  eyes  so  deep,  or 
the  fleeting  sweetness  of  her  translucent  smile  so 
wonderful. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  stood  Muriel,  and  three 
other  girl  companions,  each  with  a  woven  sweet- 
grass  basket  —  made  years  ago.  by  little  Smiles 
herself  —  filled  with  rose  petals  to  be  strewn  in  her 
path,  and  the  bride's  lowered  eyes  rested  tenderly 
for  a  moment  upon  the  child  that  she  so  loved. 
Then  she  started,  and  paused.  One  of  them,  as  tall 
as  Muriel  and  more  slender,  had  hair  of  spun  gold, 
and  she  was  looking  up  with  an  eagerness  which  she 
could  hardly  restrain. 


372  "SMILES" 

With  a  low,  surprised  cry,  Smiles  hurried  downward, 
drawing  her  hand  from  Philip's  arm  and  extending 
both  her  own. 

' '  Little  Lou .     Can  it  really  be  you  ?     Oh,  my  dear . ' ' 

And,  heedless  of  the  cluster  of  waiting  friends  be- 
yond, she  caught  the  flushing,  bashful,  happy  child  into 
her  arms. 

"Oh,  Smiles,  haint  hit  all  too  wonderful.  Hit's 
like  dreamy-land,  an'  I'm  plumb  erfeered  thet  I'll 
wake  up  an'  find  hit  haint  real.  But  yo're  real, 
my  Smiles,  an'  oh,  how  I  loves  ye." 

There  was  a  suspicious  moisture  in  more  eyes 
than  those  of  Rose,  as  she  released  the  child  and 
moved  forward  again,  following  the  flower  girls  into 
the  room  where  waited  the  man  who  was  all  in  all 
to  her. 

Donald  stood  just  to  one  side  of  a  canopied  altar 
made  of  white  roses  and  interwoven  ferns,  and  before 
it  was  a  tall,  slender  man  in  the  vestments  of  the 
Episcopal  Church,  whose  thin,  saintlike  face  was 
topped  by  hair  of  the  purest  silver-white. 

Smiles  felt  her  heart  swelling  almost  painfully 
with  a  great  new  happiness ;  her  lips  parted,  and  she 
wanted  to  draw  her  hand  across  her  eyes  and  brush 
away  the  sudden  tears  which  she  knew  were  there. 
For  the  rector  was  her  own  dear  Mr.  Talmadge. 

Now  Donald  was  at  her  side,  and  his  strong  fingers 
were  returning  the  grateful,  loving  pressure  of  her 
own.  He  understood  how  full  of  gratitude  was  her 
heart,  and  was  repaid. 


THE  HALLOWED  MOON        373 

The  low,  clear  voice,  tuned  to  the  winds  of  the 
forest,  began  the  words  of  the  beautiful  service.  It 
was,  indeed,  all  a  dream,  and  she  felt  the  unreality 
of  it  until  the  benediction  had  K*en  spoken,  and  the 
hidden  orchestra  struck  the  first  joyous  chords  of  the 
triumphant  march  from  Lohengrin.  Then,  from  her 
husband's  arms  she  turned  to  the  embrace  of  the 
mountain  minister,  and  of  Philip,  and  little  Lou,  and 
Gertrude  Merriman,  and  Dorothy  Roberts,  and  of 
all  those  other  friends,  old  and  new,  who  were  so 
dear  to  her. 

No  explanations  were  possible  for  many  minutes 
to  come;  but  at  length  she  heard  the  story  of  the 
secret  trip  "which  could  not  be  postponed,"  of  how 
"the  reverend"  —  now  well  and  strong  at  last  — 
had  gladly  consented  to  leave  his  beloved  mountain 
home,  for  the  first  time  in  many,  many  years,  and 
come  north  on  this  sacredest  of  missions;  of  how 
Judd  had  yielded  to  the  request  that  Lou  accompany 
them,  too ;  and  finally  of  how  her  mountain  lover  of 
the  old  days  was  now  himself  married  —  to  none 
other  than  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  kindly 
agent  at  Fayville. 

And  when  this  news  was  told,  Donald  cried,  "Why, 
Smiles,  for  shame!  I  actually  believe  that  you  are 
jealous,"  and  she  replied,  "Of  course  I  am  ... 
horribly."  Whereupon  every  one  laughed  at  her, 
and  her  husband  punished  her  with  a  kiss. 

It  was  ended  at  last,  the  lights,  merry  voices  and 
laughter;  and,  as  the  two  ran  the  ancient  gantlet, 


374  "SMILES" 

the  orchestra,  prompted  thereto  by  Mr.  MacDonald, 
struck  up  a  lively  popular  air,  and  the  guests  caught 
up  the  words. 

They  paused  a  moment  on  the  path  below  the 
veranda,  to  quiet  their  hurried  breathing,  and  look 
into  each  other's  happy  eyes. 

' '  Where  do  we  go  from  here  ? ' '  They  knew.  There 
had  been  but  one  spot  in  all  the  world  whose  name 
both  their  hearts  had  spoken,  when  Donald  first 
mentioned  the  honeymoon  to  be. 


Evening  again  —  twilight  on  the  Cumberland 
mountains.  The  moon  had  not  yet  risen;  but, 
through  the  black  lacework  of  the  forest  trees  which 
stretched  above  Big  Jerry's  cabin  to  the  mountain's 
summit,  share  the  beaming  radiance  of  the  evening 
star. 

Within  the  soft  shadow  of  the  doorway  stood  two 
figures,  close  together  —  one  tall,  broad  of  shoulder  and 
heavily  built,  the  other  of  medium  height,  slender 
and  very  graceful  —  and  their  arms  were  about  each 
other's  waists.  A  man  and  a  woman,  —  as  it  was 
in  the  beginning. 

For  a  long  time  they  stood  thus,  without  speak- 
ing, —  there  was  no  need  of  speech,  for  their  thoughts 
were  one. 

"So  old  and  well  remembered;  yet  so  new  and 
strangely  beautiful,"  whispered  the  woman,  as  she 
let  her  gaze  travel  over  the  broken,  far-stretching 


THE   HALLOWED   MOON        375 

skyline  of  the  forest-clad  mountain  side,  now  fading 
into  the  sky,  where  a  memory  of  the  sunset's  after- 
glow still  lingered,  as  though  loath  to  depart  and  leave 
the  world  to  darkness. 

"Like  love :  as  old  as  the  hills,  yet  ever  new," 
answered  the  other. 

"Yes.  I  cannot  yet  understand,  Don,  how  this 
new  life  can  be  so  strangely  natural  to  me.  We  have 
been  married  only  three  all-too-short  days,  yet  I 
can  scarcely  think  of  the  other  life  as  real.  Some 
people  speak  of  their  honeymoon  as  a  golden  dream. 
To  me  it  is  the  sweet  reality,  and  all  that  went  before 
the  dream.  Isn't  it  odd  ?  " 

"All  of  nature's  laws  are  inexplicable,  dear  heart. 
But  we  should  not  forget  that  the  Almighty's  plan 
for  the  world  did  not  deal  with  man  and  woman  as 
separate  entities,  but  man  and  woman  as  counter- 
parts of  a  single  unit,  in  which  His  laws  should  find 
full  expression,  if  the  two  were  truly  mated  —  not 
merely  married.  You  remember  what  Mr.  Talmadge 
said  that  night." 

"I  know.  We  have  found,  not  each  other,  but 
the  other  part  of  ourselves  —  ourself .  Dear,  when 
did  you  first  realize  that  it  was  so?" 

"My  mind,  not  until  it  was  free  to  face  the  truth ; 
my  subconscious  soul  the  first  moment  that  I  saw  you, 
I  think." 

"I  know  I  loved  you  from  that  moment 
too,"  she  answered  simply,  lifting  her  lips  for  his 
kiss. 


376  "SMILES" 

There  followed  another  spell  of  enchanted  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  low  lullaby  of  the  night  wind  in 
the  trees,  and  then  the  man  spoke  again. 

"Smiles,  are  you  still  greatly  afraid  of  the  sea?" 

"No,  dear,  I  should  not  be,  if  you  were  with  me. 
It  is  strange ;  but  I  lost  most  of  the  old,  unreason- 
ing fear  the  moment  that  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
jump  into  it  that  afternoon.  But,  why  do  you  ask 
that  now,  Donald?"  He  did  not  reply  at  once,  and 
she  continued,  "I  think  that  I  know,  and  the  same 
thought  was  in  my  own  mind.  Is  it  that  you  want 
to  go  to  France  again,  to  renew  the  saving  work 
there,  —  and  want  me  with  you  ?  " 

He  nodded  slowly. 

"If  you  hadn't  suggested  it,  I  should  have,  Don; 
for  now  I  am  doubly  prepared  for  the  work  I  began 
to  long  to  do,  so  many  years  ago.  I  am  not  only 
trained  for  it,  but  I  have  you  beside  me,  to  comfort 
and  strengthen  me,  always. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  went  on  softly.  "Some  day, 
God  grant,  we  shall  have  little  ones  of  our  own  to 
care  for ;  but,  until  that  beautiful  time  comes,  there 
are  no  less  precious  babies  throughout  all  the  world  - 
and  there,  especially  —  crying  for  us  to  help  them. 
We  must  give  of  our  best  to  them,  for,  weak,  tender 
and  helpless  as  they  are,  the  hope  of  the  world  is  in 
its  babies." 

Through  the  dark  tree-tops  the  new-born  moon 
appeared  on  the  breast  of  night,  around  it  a  misty 
halo  like  that  about  the  head  of  the  Infant  who 


THE   HALLOWED   MOON        377 

:ame  nineteen  centuries  ago,  typifying  the  hope  of 
all  mankind. 

"Look,"  said  Donald.  "Our  honeymoon  wears  a 
halo." 

"Because  it  is  a  hallowed  moon,"  answered  Rose. 

The  soft  white  radiance  floated  in,  flooding  the 
little  porch  and  illuminating  the  wife's  sweet  face  as 
she  lifted  it  again,  now  touched  with  a  smile,  more 
meaningful  and  more  ethereal  than  ever  before. 

For,  to  the  smile  of  courage,  hope  and  love,  had  been 
added  the  quality  of  rich,  deep  contentment. 


THE   END 


A     000110714     3 


